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This is a question Family Holidays

Back in the 80s when my Dad got made redundant (hello Dad!), he spent all the redundancy money on one of those big motor caravans.

Us kids loved it, apart from when my sister threw up on my sleeping bag, but looking back I'm not so sure my mum did. There was a certain tension every time the big van was even mentioned, let alone driven around France for weeks on end with her still having to cook and do all the washing.

What went wrong, what went right, and how did you survive the shame of having your family with you as a teenager?

(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:33)
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Wasps and Cocks
My folks never took us abroad. Most of our summer holidays were spent crammed into a tiny car (my Dad insisted on buying Nova saloons for many years, before finally upgrading to a CLK, having a number of fun cars to thrash, and ensuring my Mum has a variety of new plate cars as soon as we left home).

With two testosterone and fizzy drink filled young teenagers perched alongside a much younger,incredibly annoying sister on a tiny back seat the scene was usually set for disaster.

Normally we would be fractious, punches would be exchanged over the top of our sisters' head and Mum would slap legs and bellow. Quiet would follow, before the bickering started again.

One day, however, things became vindictive. My brother stabbed me in the leg with a pen. I bashed him with my sisters Etch-a-sketch. My sister wailed, I leant over to give my brother a wedgie, a wasp flew down his boxers and he received a sting in a very personal place.

The subsequent scream was the loudest noise I ever heard. Confused and a little frightened (and puzzled as to why her etch-a-sketch no longer worked) my sister joined him in a robust chorus of shrieks.

Naturally he was unable to talk clearly and was reluctant to show my Mum what had happened. She assumed I'd hit him very hard on the cock and smacked me one. We had to have a detour to hospital, and the holiday was spent in argument and recriminations.

Funny though, still brings a smile to my face whenever I think of it...
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:43, Reply)
the great outdoors.
I went on an 'uphill gardening' holiday with Jonathan King once.

Wasn't anything like I expected.

(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:33, Reply)
Seasick, me? Hah! I laugh in the face of seasickness
So, it would have been, 10 years ago, at a guess, I would have been 9 years old, and me and my parents had been over to Ireland to visit my grandparents in Limerick.

We took the ferry from Fleetwood (near Blackpool) where we lived. It was a small ship, usually meant to go between Fleetwood and The Isle Of Mann (half the journey we embarked on), but we arrived in Dublin, and made the journey down to Rathkeale in Limerick where my grandparents live.

A nice time was had by all, but there were a few troubles with my dads car. It's already been touched upon, that the roads in Ireland are mere dirt tracks, and for those who know not of the roads of Ireland, they are full of potholes, I mean it, potholes everywhere.

We were driving around, and my dad drives over a pothole, the suspension goes straight through the bottom of the boot (I don't drive and I'm not sure of the technicalities) and there was a gaping hole in the boot, my dad was freaking out, we took it to the garage near my grandparents house, and all he had to say was "Ohh, that's a terribly big hole you've got in your car", very laid back man, like most irish people, at this point my dad was panicking about his car, "Ohh, that'll take a good while to fix", we were leaving the day after, my dad's face growing ever more red, at this point the man in charge of the garage gets his friends to come and have a look, and they comment on the same things as the owner did.

After half the village (I exagerate not) have seen the car, he tells my dad he will have it fixed by the end of the night, we went to the pub, I drank red lemonade till I am sure my piss was orange, and my dad got shitfaced on Guinness.

So the day after, we arrive in Dublin for our midnight ferry, only to find out it is stuck in the middle of the irish sea due to high winds and will be delayed.

So picture this if you will, I'm in the backseat of the car, with my parents asleep in the front seats, sleeping, snoring away, I'm wide awake, and all of a sudden, I hear gunfire, a lot of it, I'm 9 years old, my parents fast asleep in the front of the car, and outside it sounded like all hell was breaking loose, I was terrified.

Fortunatly, soon after this one of the employees of the ferry company knocked on the car to wake my parents up to let us know the dinghy had arrived.

So, we set off back to good old England, and as soon as we get out of the docks, the weather hits the ferry, a 7 hour journey, the ferry being tossed around like a cork in a bucket, I WAS LOVING IT!!! IT WAS LIKE THE BEST ROLLER COASTER RIDE EVER!!! EASILY ONE OF MY FAVORITE EXPERIENCES EVER!!

I was one of the only people on the ferry not to be sick, even the captain was sick I was told by the staff. I was glad I had a walkman though, because the sound of puking has always made me gip, but I was sat in the portholes loving being underwater one minuite and over the next, eating malteasers, snickers, galtee cheese sandwhiches (Galtee cheese is like orange plastic made to taste a bit like cheese), talking to people, going down to the cinema, which was empty due to you being able to really feel the rolling of the ship down there, I could go anywhere and just rule it.


Then we arrived and I went home, and I probably went on my SNES


That was an epic, I am sorry
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:32, Reply)
Man love
... is best enjoyed, well, not at all.

When I was 16, family CerberaSpeedTwelve went to Barbados together. Me, three other siblings, both parents.

The villa only had two bedrooms, and three double beds. The adults decided the only way to sleep everyone would be sis + mum, bro + bro, and me + dad.

At the time, me and my dad had a safe maximum contact time of ten minutes. And now I was to sleep with him, literally together, no sleeping bags or nothing, for a week.

I never went on a family holiday again. Not even four years later when they went skiing, which is something I always wanted to do. A combination of spite, and an internal beacon warning me not to.

I fashioned my family philosophy then. "I don't holiday with my family. Not to protect me ... but to protect them from me."
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:29, Reply)
Dad's cock
We were early teens when my folks took me and my brother to Las Vegas on holiday. Obviously being too young for cocktails and bankruptcy at the casinos we busied ourselves at the local 'Wet N' Wild' water park fucking about on huge waterslides and such like. There was one ENORMOUS slide there that twisted, turned and dropped like a motherfucker. Me, my brother and my dad queued for it as my mum wimped out. In front of us was a woman and her daughter who looked about six. On getting to the top it turned out that the little girl was too short for the ride ("You must be yay tall to ride..." etc.) and this started her crying. The lifeguard guy at the top decided to let her ride anyway, probably trying to avoid a scene. Her mum went first, presumably so as to 'catch' the little girl at the bottom. The little girl followed her mum, then my brother went, then I went. Half-way down this slide there was a fully-enclosed 'tunnel' bit that corkscrewed around and as I approached it I could hear crying. I just had to time to register the little girl bawling her head off and holding on to the side of the tunnel before I passed her in a watery blur. I splashed down and my brother was stood there with the mum who was wondering how 2 people had managed to exit the slide before her girl had. The mum was just peering up the exit to the slide in a comedy "looking at the end of the hosepipe before it spurts in your face" type gesture when we heard the crying girl's approach. She was promptly squashed flat by my dad and the little girl arriving together. As if this wasn't already creasing me and my brother up enough it seemed that the perishable underpant lining of my dad's ancient Asda-bought swimming shorts hadn't quite survived the trip intact and his hairy cock was plainly on display for all to see.

Me and my bro were sharing a room and we got no sleep at all that night for collapsing in laughter every time one of us said "That woman had dad's cock in her face!!"
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:18, Reply)
I'm from a Family of Sado-masochistic Puritans
My parents had some interesting ideas for holiday destinations.
We once spent 2 weeks in Penge, turdspotting.
Then in the 1990s we holidayed under the Severn Bridge. I fished in the river for dinner every night. We dined majestically on Condom that year!
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:11, Reply)
Signify has reminded me....
sailing holiday round the Greek islands

we were in a taverna of an evening and my dad was ordering some food. we all wanted chips so he said "chips for everyone"

the result was a large platter being delivered, oval in shape and probably a foot and a half long, piled high with chips

naturally, my brothers and I were in heaven.

can't remember dad's reaction!

this holiday also has some other great memories for me (among my first strong ones...I must have been 4 years old or something)

seeing my oldest brother swung between two burly sailers and hurled into the harbour

my other brother got a monster black sea urchin spine stuck under his big toenail

happy times
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:11, Reply)
I've been away a while again - apologies to you all. Well, those of you that haven't blocked me....

I've been on some horrendous family holidays, France, Mauritius, London, Skegness to name but a few locations.

I'll post some more stories later, but they mostly follow roughly the same pattern like this:

We flew somewhere or we drove - the transportation method doesn't really matter. After about 30 seconds of leaving the house, my sister and I are at each other's throats wanting to rip the living shit out of each other - this generally lasts the entire holiday with threats to both of us being generally ignored as we're too busy murder-a-lizing each other.

Not even the solidarity of being a sibling amongst the wide weird world helps like you would expect....

It's a small miracle that I'm still alive.....

PS, thanks b3ta as the repressed Skegness memory has just come back - I've been avoiding paid therapy for a few months now and I realise how much I do need it (and I do too).

PS, my sanity really has actually gone beyond the bottom. When they say "when you're at the bottom, stop digging" - keep on - there's more beyond it.....
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:09, Reply)
My dear old dad never was one for wasting money on new clothes and always bought good stuff that was made to last. Unfortunately, this didn't include his rotting pair 20-year old swimming trunks which 'dissolved' in a swimming pool in Greece. Me and my brother had to rush over to the pool with a towel to save his blushes as he got out.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:08, Reply)
Oh God
I'd repressed most of these memories. Only way to keep what's left of my sanity. But this QOTW has brought some of them back.

Cayton Bay, Wallis Caravan Park. A kind of poor mans Butlins. circa sometime in the 70's. I was about 10 or 11.

Some fool, probably my sister, entered me for the kids talent competition. My talent? Farmyard Impressions.....

(God I'm cringing here remembering this....)

So I gets up and stage and host says:

"So here's young Legless with his Farmyard Impressions"

To a smattering of bored applause I filled my little lungs and bellowed:


And that was as far as I got before I was physically jumped on and dragged off stage.


(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:02, Reply)
dad got the squits and prickly heat.

I ordered omlette and chips and my plate arrived with an omlette with chips in it.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:01, Reply)
Corsica, a year or two ago.
Strip poker with two girls, followed by skinny-dipping in the shared pool.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:53, Reply)
Summer holiday, mid 80's
In the mid 80's when I was about 9, I went on holiday with my grandparents to Blackpool for a week. For the most part it was good, loads of sweets, arcades and playing darts with my granddad. However, they also took me to see three shows at the Winter Gardens*.

We went to see Cannon & Ball which was ok but they closed with an interminably painful rendition of I Believe That Children Are The Future, well they might be if they don't have to suffer that.

Then we went to see Jimmy Cricket but he was ill so we got Stu "I could crush a grape" Francis instead, he wasn't too bad. He said, "Aren't there a lot of gay bars in Blackpool" and someone shouted, "How do you know?". Oh how we laughed.

The real lowlight was being taken to see The Grumbleweeds, a sorry bunch of northern comedians who did sketches and songs that were invariably shit. Halfway through their show, I was bored to tears and desperate to leave when they started a rendition of Rock Me Amadeus by Falco and invited the audience to sing along (basically, this involved singing Amadeus Amadeus over and over again). No-one joined in, and one of the 'weeds asked, "Why aren't you singing along?", a very frustrated little me shouted out "Because we've forgotten the words". A few people laughed, the Grumbleweed came over and called me a cheeky monkey and my gran told me to shut up and smacked me around the head, hard.

What a great night that was.

* Apologies to those of you who don't know or remember 1980's light (shite) entertainment on Saturday evenings pre X Factor, Ant and Dec and Celebrity Goat Farming on Ice.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:43, Reply)
I'm going on holiday tommorow
yay for me, nay for the west country!
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:24, Reply)
Summer holidays, early 80's
On one of our week long stays in a static caravan near Weymouth, I fell out of bed whilst sleeping, from the top bunk. Whilst lying on the floor I decided I couldn't be bothered to move and went back to sleep.

Unfortunately, my parents had heard the thud of me hitting the floor and came to investigate. I was soon awoken once more by my Dad opening the bedroom door on my head.

I never slept on a top bunk again.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:18, Reply)
At the age of 15 I realised two life-changing things :-

(a) Never go on family holidays with the family, ever.
(b) The dog needed looking after.

So from then on I spent wonderful summers hanging out, looking after the dog, having mates over and getting plastered, while everybody else went off to have arguments in places they didn't want to be.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:15, Reply)
Wait a sec, I think I'm going to be sick
Our family holidays were little short of idyllic, to be honest: staying in a friend's cottage in what was then a remote and un-touristy part of South-West Ireland. The cottage fronted onto a beach and a quiet bay where we'd muck about in boats and have Famous Five-type adventures.


What was not idyllic was the travel. My lifelong hatred of ferries can be traced back directly to the hours we spent aboard the collection of clapped-out tubs that B&I had the gall to refer to as its 'fleet'. I've never been blessed with good sea-legs and my abiding memories of those voyages tend to involve being stuck in a small, windowless cabin, reeking of engine oil, trying desperately not to be sick (again).

Then there was the several hours of driving required to get to our final destination, on the crumbling dirt tracks that passed (and in many cases still do) for roads in rural Ireland. Being prone to carsickness (not much of traveller, me) it was little better than being on the ferry, although I could at least ask to stop and get out once in a while. Many and widespread are the roadside verges that have been nourished by the contents of my stomach.

As it happens, the worst trip was one that I was too young to remember. I was just a babe in arms when my mother took the boat, accompanied by a friend and all the kids (five in all) but minus Dads, who were flying out later. The weather was gale-force all the way, and by all accounts everyone (including many of the crew), spent the entire voyage face-down in a pool of vomit, praying for death. My mother recalls little beyond her early decision to hand me over to a pair of apparently oblivious nuns, managing to slur "Hold this!" at them as she struggled off towards the nearest toilet, where she spent the rest of the journey.

I believe that the latter incident also goes some way to explaining my lifelong aversion to nuns.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:15, Reply)
Embarrassing parents on hols...
When I was younger and my parents could afford the airfare for us, we used to go to Malaysia a lot (my mum's from there so we always had somewhere free to stay, yay!)

Anyway, even though my mum's family and friends can speak pretty good english, my Dad always spoke to them slowly and loudly. Infront of everyone. Not only does this make him an object of dislike, it makes everyone think this is how my brother and I would treat someone from a different country.

And he thinks his slow and loud voice is "helping them learn." He is a really nice bloke, just... a bit tactless/slow on the uptake/strange.

Also, this is kinda off topic, but he does it to waiters and waitresses ANYWHERE who have a foreign accent.

(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:11, Reply)
Sunny* Wales (*RAIN)
Oh the family holiday in Wales many moons ago, apart from constant rain, snoring Grandma and everyone catching terrible colds (except me) due to the damp/medieval cottage we were staying in. The highlights were watching Jean Michel Jarre's "Rendevous Houston" on a black and white tv and being told in no uncertain terms to leave the pub we were eating in by the meeting of the local Plaid Cymru fans.......at least we didn't have to pay. Never seen my dad so scared! (edit: POP!)
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:08, Reply)
Dont get me started.............Oh ok! here goes
My snobby - nothing we did ever good enough -grandparents lived in Blackpool and every bloody holiday we'd get shipped over as my mum couldn't afford to take us anywhere. I hated Blackpool and I wasn't too keen on my grandparents even though they were loaded. I hated every fookin minute of my stay there. Watching our p's and q's and always comments about our appearance and accent. We lived on a council estate in Blackburn, darkest Lancashire, how did they think we would speak.

Also our step dad at the time was all into family outings and would drag us to every bloody castle or whatever every bank holiday. I eventually talked them into letting me stay at home most times even though I was really too young to be left alone. I was a very sensible child and very introverted so I didn't want to be mixing with the unwashed masses.

Have absolutly no happy memories of family holidays in my youth.

Bah humbug!

We had to spend every bloody christmas with my grandparents too! We got loads of prezzies though.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:06, Reply)
Pa Jugular has family in Germany, so as a family we've driven there a few times, from Lincolnshire, it takes more than a day and was rarely fun.

The worse occasion was when we took my slightly odd cousin, who was around 13 at the time, and unbeknownst to us, had discovered her *ahem* sexuality.

Once hitting the continent, I looked out of the corner of my eye. She had raised on of her legs up and was, erm, what's the terminology now, touching herself.

I buried myself in my book and tried very hard to disappear into it.

Ma Jugular noticed and took to throwing sweets over her shoulder so as not to turn around.

Pa Jugular had it worse though, he had to drive all the way to Germany without looking in the rearview mirror.

What a fun week that was!
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:06, Reply)
never again
My mum and my sister have never got on. A few years ago my mum decided she wanted a family holiday with all her children and grandchildren so we all gathered up our kids and went to a villa in Portugal for a fortnight. Where it pissed down for 13 of the 14 days.

There were 8 adults and 7 kids crammed into the villa. It wasn't too bad the first day then it became apparent that my mum had forgotten her HRT. Normally when my sister makes snide little remarks to my mum she ignores them but this time she gave as good as she got.

I told my son recently that he should moderate his language in front of my mum because she doesn't swear. "Yes she does" he replied, "she swore a lot when we were in Portugal."

I must have blanked it from my mind.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:04, Reply)
When I was about 14
I spent a holiday culling seals with the old man. It'd be fair to say my holiday stories got a mixed reaction when I returned to school in the leafy home counties.

Actually; that was the same year that me and a mate went climbing on the Ilse of Skye. We spent a lot of time with a paedophile we met. Luckily this was some time ago so he was just a dirty old man at the time.

We'd use his speed boat, drink his beer etc while he'd ernestly explain why it'd be only right for him to grease our weasels in return.

We had a great time, weasels remained resolutely ungreased, but we still decided best not mention our new friend to the parental units.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:03, Reply)
Waterslide Fun
Not such a big deal, on holiday with my parents to florida about 11 years ago now, we visit Facisit Water World, AKA a Disney themed water park. Now being about 7 at the time, all the big water slides would scare the crap out of me, except this one. If you've never seen a really large water slide, you have to lie down and cross your arms and hope you don't fall off. So down I slide, thinking ow! this landings a bit rough, never mind I thought, lets go on again, getting up I see some blood in the water. At which point my mom points at my back in horror. Turns out there was some jagged thing sticking up out of the ride which had cut my back as I was sliding down

Damn Disney :(
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 15:01, Reply)
insert Madeline McCann joke here
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:57, Reply)
Woot 4th
Yeah. I win a biscuit. *munch*

Wasn't me being an evil teenager, twas my sister.
The last family holiday I had (with my mum & stepfather... and come to think haven't had one since with my dad & stepmother either) was to the teenager friendly and excitment filled... NORTH WALES!

None of the mountain trekking fun stuff (apart from a morning's cycling round Snowdonia) no no no... You shall go up a couple of small hills, go to Port Merion (The Prisoner location, not bad I spose) and to lovely Welsh seaside towns full of tea-towels & shortbread tins.
I reckon I was 13/4 and my sister 16/7.

She has admitted since that she was a total bitch from the age of 12 - 18. We weren't surprised, we knew at the time.

Total, utter, shitty, crappy shambles holiday.
So many arguments, including my sister being gripped by the shoulders and shouted at by stepfather (not in a child beating type way, just trying to get the point across that she's a cow) "It's YOU all the time!" type thing.

My mother never helped: She's one of those "Oh do what you want, I don't care!" type people. I've learnt to ignore her when she has a huff now, but seeing as I don't live at home anymore, it don't matter :)

So my point is... If you have children, it would be nice to consider them at least slightly when choosing a holiday destination. Perhaps somewhere they might have even the slightest chance of interacting with people their own age? Go on.

And I got in trouble on the last night for having the squits & not being able to go on a seaside walk to watch the sunset. Oh I do apologise for having runny bowels. I think I might bring that up the next time I'm home & get an apology. I don't bear grudges, nope.

Feck, I'm crap at answering these.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:45, Reply)
Worst place to go on holiday ever. Probably only made worse by the fact i was a moody oik of a teenager, and just spent all week sitting in the lobby of the place where we stayed reading the same old Kerrang magazine thinking I was really cool in front of the other guests - especially the kids - of the hotel. Looking back, I must have looked like a right twat in all honesty.

Parents probably put a lot of effort into that holiday, and I just moaned the whole time really.

Was a bit of a shitty child in hindsight, but i'm making up for it now. Promise.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:44, Reply)

our neighbours used to run a caravan park in the south of France, near(ish) Marseilles.

countless family holidays to said caravan park have given me strong dislike of France, over and above the residual dislike I have for the French that comes from me being English.

the highlights include:
almost endless car journeys in sweltering heat with 5 of us jammed in a shit car (this was in between the times that my dad actually bought good cars). being the youngest I obviously had to sit in the middle between my two horrible bastard teenage brothers.

being smacked in the head by a german twunt because I walked across where he was trying to take photos of kids in the paddling pool beside the main pool. filthy fucking pervert.

Being stuck down there for a week, this time without brothers, so me, and my parents, in a caravan for a week. the Mistral was blowing outside (the wind that drives people mad, if you aren't familiar with it) and driving rain was coming down. I'd only taken 2 books with me. Think I read both 7 times.....

apologies for dullness in hindsight
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:42, Reply)
Meh, I went on holiday with them, just got a bit bored/annoyed/whatever sometimes.
First post! Again!

These things generally happen on our family holidays: Dad gets angry, brother acts like a cunt, Mum wants to drag us all out for a walk in some 'country' place.

We had a caravan when I was younger. There would be a strange smell and I constantly got accused of farting in there.
(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:42, Reply)

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