Don't bring the grandparents again, they annoy celebrities
Years ago, when I was a mini-Jeccy (instead of the fat cunt that posts here before you every day) me mam and dad decided to go on a day trip to North Wales, where there was some fairly big events occuring (some cultural festival or something). Unfortunately they decided to bring my dad's parents along for the trip, who were ("They're dead Jim!") both daft as brushes. Me nan was a dopey sod, and my grandfather was, well, just violent.

While we're up there, we find out there's a big car show occuring quite close to where we were staying, so we all hop along. I'm only about 6 at the time, so I'm running about the cars hopping in (pretending to drive etc), which at the time also including some police cars, so I was happy. Me mam was happy too; there were a few celebs present and one of them was someone off Coronation Street called "Eddie Yeats the dustbinman" or "Geoffrey Hughes the actor" as he was known in real life. Dad was a car buff so he was at home.

So that just left the grandparents. Gran was a bit tired, so she sat in this small cafe area overlooking the cars. Me grandad discovered that the cafe served alcohol, and promtly got shitfaced, while eating a cream cake and spreading the cream all over his chin. After a good few jars, he looks over the balcony looking for us when he spots Geoffrey Hughes and all his bodyguards standing around him (it is Wales) in the middle of the display floor. He heads on down to the floor and makes a beeline for the old-time celeb, while gran is chasing after him. We spot him heading there too, so we all leggit over. Grandad gets there first though, and starts asking "Eddie" if he knows Dai from the ashcarts in Swansea, while we all try to drag him away and the security pull Geoffrey back from a drunk old angry looking man who was frothing at the mouth.

Oh happy days....
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 10:15, Reply)

Urrr.... hmmm....
Not a lot of storys for family holidays, because we don't take them. If I go anywhere, it's usually just to my dad's for a week.

However, on one trip, he decided that we were going to go to a holiday-camp style resort, and stay in a mobile home. I must've been about 16 or so, and this sounded great. Now, I am not the most sociable to people, and usually the only reason to away is to play on fruit machines, and the destination is picked around what arcades there are (Southend, Weston S. Mare etc.). So we turn up, get unpacked, and wander off to see what the place is like. No arcade machine. And I don't mean no gambling ones, I mean nothing. There was a ball-pond, and a slide, both of which was closed.

So after a day of complete boredom, stuck in a mobile home with no TV, no games, and half a pack of cards, it's finally bedtime. I get a whole double bed to myself (in a room with no other furniture, and no room either side of the bed. They must have built the home around it), and I doze of.

Only to be woken in the morning in complete agony. My neck had locked in place in the night, and all the muscles had tensed. I woke my dad up with a mixture of screaming and crying, I was in so much pain (and I had no idea what was wrong of course).

When he finally gets up, and helps me out of bed, we sit in the 'living room' and discuss what is going to happen. I needed a doctor right then and there, but dad was adamant we were going to stay and enjoy ourselves.

After a lot of pursuation, and not a small amount of crying, we get him to take me to a doctor. Unfortunately the closest doctor is actually his local one (we were out in the wilds), so we pack up and go home.

I was given diazepam and my neck finally relaxed. 3 days later.

We have never spoken of what happened to this day, but I know that I was somehow to blame for it because of the looks I was getting all the way home.
(Lord Eggblast The cake is a lie, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 10:15, Reply)

The North East
We were right poor when I were a lad we were! Well, poorish. Most of the holidays we took were on the East coast, in lovely Haven caravan parks: great beaches, ace arcades, loads of places to play and hide! I loved them, and still have a great fondness for Scarborough, Filey, Brid, Whitby and Robin Hood's Bay...
Except one year we couldn't afford it as my dad had recently been made redundant. But, bless'im, he still wanted to give his family a holiday and it just so happened that he had friends that had a caravan on the East coast! Brilliant!
Actually, it was more like the North East coast: a shitty little caravan (exactly like the one out of Father Ted) in the ultimate holiday destination of South Shields. Now to all you Geordies out there, I have nothing against that part of the world, in fact I love Newcastle, but as a 13 year old kid, a South Shields caravan park was hell on earth.
We were there for two weeks (two fecking weeks!) and we had three sunny days. The rest of the time was spent playing Monopoly whilst the rain pissed down and the brisk sea winds threatened to topple our caravan over.
And in the evening it got worse, because then the local fog horn on was switched on.
The only memorable day was when the sun actually came out and we visited a nearby safari park. And Hadrian's Wall was okay but, yep, it pissed it down all day. Other than that, I have managed to repress the memory...
(Ghostlight, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 10:14, Reply)

Eurowank
As kids & teenagers we went to france every year, and on several occasions, the same campsite each time. To be fair, they were fantastic holidays and me and my younger brother loved every minute, even the long drives down to the town near the spanish border.

We always stayed in a campsite, on one of those 'eurocamp' places, where they provide everything, tent, fridge, stuff. The tents were generally large canvas things (obviously!) but divided up into different 'rooms' - basically large, thin mesh bags hung from the frames. My brother and I had one divided in 2, one side each, next to that was a large double room with a proper double bed for the 'rents, my bro and I had campbeds, the ones with a canvas sheet attached to a frame by springs. They made a hundred different squeaks everytime you so much as breathed. If you rolled over, the noise was like a large, badly tuned violin orchestra.

I was about 13, and before the holiday had started to notice a new side effect to my teenage night-time solo fumblings. I had started to leak quite a lot, you know, at the end bit. It was feeling amezzin. After a few weeks on holiday, i was feeling the urge, big time. One night i decided to go for it.

Every single sound would carry at night, i could hear my brothers heartbeat from 4 feet away if i listened carefully. My noise reduction from now on would have to make Mr Dolby weep with jealousy. I pulled off the duvet and discarded it to the floor to reduce rustling. I took off my pj's, further rustle reduction being key. I licked my palms, and attempted to flatten down my adolescent smattering of pubes, again, conscious of the potential friction and noise. I needed to lie as still as possible and move everything an absolute minimum. A hard-on took about 1 and a half seconds to achieve, i licked my palms again, and set to work. Concentrating hard on moving my hand without moving my arm, and moving my parts just enough to get things working. I listened for every squeak, and creak. I regulated my breathing carefully so as not to give the game away.

My 'bedroom' was separated from my parents room by 2 thin mesh walls, and approximately 1 inch spacially. My head was probably a foot from my dads realistically. However, i was doing well, i didnt make a sound. I was quickly approaching finale, and also realisng I hadn't thought this through fully. Point of no return. Many thoughts rushing through my head - tits tits sophie smiths tits oh shit wheres it going to go Sarah Manions legs god she so fucking fit oh god oh god come one oh fuck it i'm going to have to just let fly i cant reach for a sock without making a noise god please let me fuck Sophie and Sarah one day please just once god im giving it to them good now they love it i'm going to swap and put it in the other one and watch her tits dangling down as i fuck her and urrrrrrrrrgh oh fuck thats goooooooooooood........

Silence. Screaming silence in my head. A sticky warm wetness all over my stomach and hand and bits and utter relief. My ears almost ringing from the concentration, a stupid grin plastered and the knowledge that Sophie and Sarah had just got the seeing to of their lives, I am a total and utter STUD.

The unmistakeable outline of my fathers face appears in the mesh wall of my room as he rolls over. In a hushed tone he says "Son, I hope it was worth it. Please dont do it again when we're around it upsets your brother."

The subsequent shame has long since been repressed, I dont honestly remember how awful that moment must have been. I never got to shag Sophie Smith, i hear she is still very fit. Sarah Manion had the greatest legs you've ever seen and the images remain a file on the "w drive" to this day.

Later I'll tell you about my attempted rape on the same holiday.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 10:08, Reply)

Old fashioned?
A long long time ago I spent xmas with the then gf's folks. They lived in a rather fantastic bungalow on top of the white cliffs of Dover, and the whole thing was very 'Raj Style'. GF's dad had been a diplomat in the past and she was born in India herself, with four or five elder brothers who ranged from 40 odd to 20 something. Many of the brothers were also installed for festivities, including the oldest who hadn't known I was going to be there and had to come up with a present at short notice. He gave me a huge bag of homegrown puff. (Really huge, like shopping bag huge.) Keeping that hidden was hard work, though not as difficult as finding a 'quiet moment' with the gf. Luckily there was an old gun emplacement down the road which was dry-ish. Ha Ha think we...

Of course that was where the neighbourhood walked their dogs. Including gf's parents dog. We didn't get caught but somehow all the brothers seemed to know about it.

There's nothing like having a potential future brother-in-law asking how good a lay his sister is. That's embarrassment.

Or is it when they ask if she still does that thing with her tongue?
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 10:06, Reply)

Lourdes
I went to Lourdes a good few years back - I think I was 18 or something. I did NOT go willingly - I was guilt-tripped in to it by my Mum.

Now, as you hard-core catholics out there know, Lourdes is somewhere that you all aspire to go to - something about holiness blah blah blah.

Me, on the other hand, I coulnd't give a stuff - At that particular time, I was just rejecting religion and all that it stands for and still attending church weekly under protest. My Mum was intent on saving my soul (she's still trying - and failing spectacularly). She signed us all up (us being my sister, my Mum and I) and said that she'd pay and by God we were all going - I think she probably threw in a "I can't go on my own can I" guilt trip - which I fell for.

Anyway, off we went. By coach. From Lincolnshire. About 93 hours later (slight exaggeration there) we arrived. The trip itself was uneventful, thankfully. We piled off the coach and headed off to the hotel.

Which was when Mum, who had arranged the accomodation, piped up "there was a room shortage, so we're all in the same room". WTF??? Me (18 year old guy), sister (19) and mum.

You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding.

No. And it was a tiny feckin' room - I'll add this to my therapy list now I think about it. 4 days and nights with my Mum and sister in the same little room - it's a wonder I didn't go insane. It's a wonder my sister and I didn't kill each other.

The week was horrible - there were other religious nuts there from our church - some ok - some clearly bonkers - I hung out with Rita who was just about sane and spent most of my time playing with the 4 year old (Bernadette) who was saner than the lot of us.

Then I ran out of money - not having a job back home meant that I was reliant on Mum for handouts - Mum who firmly believed, at the time, that 50p went a long way. And made a joke of it - here's 20 Francs (about £2 at the time) she went - Thanks Mum, 20 Francs, that'll go far....

Add to that all the military types that were about who were all wankers and drunk and hyped up and rant rant. Who mostly took the piss in a not-so-friendly kind of way. And the drunken Celtic supporting wanker priest (who I'd forgotten about until just now...) who spent the whole time being mercilessly cutting, harsh and cruel to me. Tosser.

It was a traumatic week and I didn't come away feeling religiously enlightened at all - in fact, I think I came away with a renewed hatred of Catholicism and all it's facets.

Not to mention a deep loathing of going anywhere and sharing a room with my sister ever again.

Tragically, I did end up sharing a room with my sister, but that's the Skegness story......

More to follow.

(Note - if you got this far AND read the whole story, I'm rather impressed!)
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 9:51, Reply)

My mummy loves me...
I have no recollection of teenage holidays with my parents, as I never went with them.
Not because I hated my parents, thought them uncool or that they just didn't understand me…
Just I'd discovered masturbation and I'd rather do that for a fortnight uninterrupted.

But I do have a recollection of a holiday as little kid.
We went to Italy to the seaside and I went paddling as you do. With a inflated rubber ring around my waist.
Rubber rings make excellent floatation devices even when you've been knocked over by a wave.
Sadly, they make no distinction between waist and ankles. So ended up under the water with my legs in the air. Every time I made to stand up, the waves would come in and the ring would keep me under. Drowning.

To my mother, my brush with death was the funniest thing she'd every seen. My little legs waving in the air as her darling boy drowned. She found it so funny that she couldn't speak for laughing so hard and had to use some form of charades to get my dad to come rescue me.

20 plus years on, she still cackles like the witch she is when she recalls the event.
When the bitch starts shitting her pants I'll feel justified in finding her the worst nursing home imaginable!
( Weejock, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 9:46, Reply)

Budddwyer, I feel your pain...
......I had to stay in a caravan as a teen with my then-GF and her folks a couple of times too, and just one dog - a big, old, smelly conniving fucker it was too - thankfully it had already learned that I wasn't keen on getting pally with it in any way and it stayed away from me. Her folks enjoyed thier windy walks and took the mutt along though, so there were one or two opportunities for us to get nekkid here and there.

As a result, and that of other caravanning holidays with my own folks throughout my childhood I really enjoy watching Braniac and have considered writing in a few times to say 'please, let me blow one of those things to peices'

That said, once her dad had got a measure of me as a decent sort (the fool lol), they let us stay there unsupervised on numerous occasions - that made up for any boredom and blue balls I'd previously suffered ;)

EDIT: I can understand Chthonic's mum's point of view though - in t'olden days when mums still did the majority of the cooking I can imagine thier dismay at the prospect of spending thier holiday doing exactly what they do the rest of the year only with crappier equipment - swiz.
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 9:25, Reply)

Pooflake..
Dont be ridiculous, Man.... you'd leave Coventry for Smethwick.... the jewel of the Midlands!

Smethwick - Now Violent Crime free for 6 days!
(LunarJim, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 9:20, Reply)

Holidays are for twats

Why would anybody want to leave Coventry? The ‘shining star’ in the heart of glorious England? With its culture, diversity and vibrant nightlife?

The only reason anybody in the world should go on holiday is if they don’t live in Coventry. Then they should go on holiday to Coventry.

PS…I am clinically insane.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 3 Aug 2007, 9:17, Reply)

When I was a lad...
My family were too poor to go on holiday (sniff).

Now I'm all grown up, with a family of my own, and actually quite well off...

I still don't take them on holiday though.

Fuck 'em...I never got one, so they don't get one

(It might also be because I'm a selfish shagbot who is as tight-as-a-gnat's-chuff?)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 3 Aug 2007, 9:10, Reply)

Pembrokeshire 2007
Havent actually been yet. The govenor and I are taking our kids (2 years and 6 months) to a cottage on the Pembrokeshire coast for a week.

Keep your eyes peeled for posts in 14-15 years time from teenage children complaing about how their Dad got drunk, donned a pair of open toed sandals, exposed himself to a coachload of pensioners from Rhyl, and was seen running into the sunset shouting political slogans.

At least those are my holiday plans.
(LunarJim, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 9:08, Reply)

Camping with Dad
When I was a young warthog.. ahem.. lady. Me and my siblings would often go on a camping trip with my father on the obligatory twice a year visits. Often these trips were fraught with danger and carelessness. My father thought himself quite the sailor and so purchased several row boats or "dories" as he retardedly called them.

On one such trip we were camping on an island in the south of NZ near Queenstown. It took about an hour to row there and this one occasion several trips were needed. The last trip happened to be in the middle of a storm that had brewed from nowhere and after dark. My fearless father made my older brother shine a feeble torch ahead of the boat to watch out for rocks amidst the swirling rough seas whilst we slept in the car overnight - the trip took about 4 hours in pitch darkness in the middle of rough seas. My brother was shitting himself and my mother (when she heard about it) nearly scratched out my dad's eyes.

Oh, and this other time when we were nearing puberty, we went camping in a bay, there just happened to be a barge moored nearby and we had great fun jumping off it and playing on it. My Dad thought it was a fine place to take a shower with his hairy cock jumbling all over the show. The family that went past in the yacht while he was taking his shower in full view of the lake wasn't too impressed.

How embarrassing.

Oh, and one other time he thought he would be funny and took my little sister's easter eggs (she was 6 or so at the time) and hid them on the island for her to find. She bawled her eyes out when she found her stash on top of a log on the other side of the island 4 hours later melted and covered in ants.

Click "I like this" if your father's a twat.
(Sammyj, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 8:57, Reply)

If anyone's ever had an encounter with sea lice
You may have some idea of the hell I experienced aged nine. I went to the seaside and managed to get sea lice inside my internet. I got bitten so many times that I had a red patch that looked like a perfect pair of pants - there was not one white bit of skin. They itched like mad and I was in agony.

The weird thing was that every time I itched my arse it made a little bit of wee come out. How queer.
(Creamy Discharge Freeze Motherstickers, this is a fuck up, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 7:01, Reply)

embarrassed parent
This is a switch. When my now 28 year old daughter was 4, we went to Acapulco on vacation. While in the hotel pool, she kept saying "I have to poop, mommy" and after being drunk of several pina coladas, said, "just a moment, just a moment". Suddenly, little turds starting floating on the top of the pool...from my little girl. Guess I should have listened to her...
(grizzy898, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 6:29, Reply)

Of Canberra, mushrooms, spiders and completely nutty aunts.
At the tender age of 11, it was announced that my aunt decided to offer my sisters (aged 13 and 9 at the time) and I a holiday, a week with her at her house in Canberra.
Before I go on, I must say this: Canberra may be the capitol of Australia, but it's also the arse-end of the country. Sure, you can buy fireworks and find an adult store on every block, but these features are overshadowed by the abundance of round-abouts, the fact that everything seemed to close at 5pm, the lack of ANY children... Oh, and a hoarde of politicians.
Anyway, my sisters and I endured a 8 hour coach-trip with no airconditioning to be greeted by the aunt, who happened to come bearing gifts of cold drinks and little presents.
"Cool!", we thought. Oh how wrong we were.
My aunt, although having had two children, has never looked after kids in her life. We were in for a good one, weren't we?
The most memorable part of the holiday was when my aunt decided to take us mushroom picking (the suggestion crowded with comments like "I used to do this when I was your age, in Poland!" and "I'd be so happy if I could share this with you").
Off we went.

For the record, it was after she suggested it that I mentioned I hate mushrooms. Hatehatehatehate them. She said it was fine, I could still have the experience. Keep this in mind.

We drove out to some picturesque forest to begin gathering the little lumps of fungus which I despise so much. All was going well until I walked into a huge spider web.

I hate spiders. Almost as much as I hate mushrooms. Being 11, I screamed like a little girl (what a surprise) and told my aunt I wasn't going to pick any because I was scared. After being told off for this, I was allowed to wait in the car.
I can handle that.

We got back to my aunt's house where she began to cook aforementioned mushrooms. Frying them in butter, in fact. The smell makes me gag at the best of times, and when my aunt heard this, I was told off for being rude. Not too bad.
Then she dished up ALL the mushrooms onto one plate and told me to eat them all, because I'd been rude.
"I don't like mushrooms!" I wailed.
"I don't care!", she replied.
Mushrooms were shovelled down my throat, and I was then sent to bed for being naughty.
I started feeling nauseous while in bed and clutched my stomach, looking up to the ceiling. Hm, how interesting. Neon coloured spiders were dancing across the walls and ceiling. I wasn't sure whether to be amused or scared, but I really didn't have time to think.

Why?
I was then violently ill.

Yes, folks. My aunt had force-fed me poisonous and hallucinagenic mushrooms. It gets better though. The mushrooms had recently been sprayed with various poisons to get rid of them.
Gives you an idea of just how violently ill I was.
But to top it all off, I was then told off for being so rude as to be ill on my aunt's nice clean floor.

The bitch.


Length? Projectile!
( is0lati0n, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 4:42, Reply)

Scalded in Blackpool
When i was about 10.my family went for a no holds barred sunshine break to Blackpool.one weeks worth..my family consisted of my mum.my stepfather(we never got on) me and brother who was a toddler..we used to stay in bispham and cos my stepdad was a keen runner.we walked everywhere..all the way down to south pier and back everyday..youch the memories,blisters on me blisters..anyway half way through the week,we went down on the beach near bispham(similar terrain to beirut)the tide had just gone out leaving behind a soggy mush of sand..my mum was sat right up on the steps with my little bro...my stepfather had just purchased two solid plastic, tennis type bats,complete with a spongey ball..i had my favourite white t shirt on(thought i was the biz wearing it)after a few go's the spongey ball landed in a vat of sandy mush,needless to say my stepfather thwacked the ball in my direction,with the power of pete silverback sampras..Kersplatt he scored a direct hit ,in the area of my solar plexis...this got my back up big style..my brill white t covered in what resembled golden retriever diaorhia...just by my feet was a quagmire of a puddle..i rammmed the sponge ball deep down in its splodginess....my step dad had a worried look on his face..he shouted "DONT YOU DARE"...i then cocked my arm..and BAM the ball was gone..in his direction...to my horror..i scored a direct hit to..right between the eyes of my spectacle wearing stepdad....RIGHT THATS IT he belmed...i set off running for my life..got about 30 metres..then i felt a wrenching of my arm...nooooo he got me..now what....i could see my mum up on steps ..she was waving and smiling(must of thought we were playing a game)...she was right..the game was swinging me in a circle,till my stomach connected with his fist ,for about what felt like 15 mins...mmmm. family hols eh...who fecking needs em...ps..we used to go to blackpool and then scarborough alternate years..till i left home when i was 16..since then they been abroad every year...i will never forget that ball ..and his sand splattered face
(tavish Strongbow is my life, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 2:24, Reply)

I hate flying
First leg of journey: South Carolina to Texas (2hrs) Someone had puked in the seat pocket in front of me. I found this out when I put my hand in to get a magazine.

Second part: Texas to Maui (8hrs) Must have been a bean-eater's convention. People wouldn't stop farting. The old gasbags and infant shit machines kept going the whole flight. I was riding bitch in a 7 across plane. God Dammit! I get airsick badly anyway but I was green by the time we landed.

Actual trip was great, other than the sea urchin incident. Flights back I had to ride bitch again. I go to get my luggage and it was wet and smelled of wee. I hate airports.
(evil_penguin_17 Robots of Doom... Attack!, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 2:21, Reply)

Road trip! (kinda)
Last year my dad decided we would drive to italy. We drove down to dover, through france and down the coast of italy to the south.
But whenever my dad saw an english number plate, he would beep and flash his lights.
Not cool.
Not to mention those idiots who stand at traffic lights and try and sell you crappy stuff or give you free cds and then charge you 40euros.
Apart from that, it was the best holiday ive ever had.


Editt!
I've just remembered the worst holiday ive had.
I was about 6 or 7 and we were in York i think.
One day we were out in a little town and my brothers and dad decided to go to the small computer shop.
This was before my parents divorced so me and my mother went for a walk along some canal. This black guy with a massive afro turns up and starts walking along next to us, chatting to my mum.
For some reason i cried throughout the whole walk.
Turns out he was the guy my mum was shagging on the side - he kept popping up wherever we went.

How i miss those days.
(I've got the clap has some cool sentence here, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 1:35, Reply)

My last family holiday
was to a small town in Rhodes, when I was 16. It wasn't so much a family holiday as a holiday with me and my Mum, since her and my Dad were on the verge of splitting up and didn't particularly want to spend a week in Greece together, and no other close family members could be arsed (my grandma probably would have, but she was dead).

Suffice to say it bored the shite out of me - at the age of 16 I had absolutely no appreciation for the various historical sites and crap museums we paid a visit to, and I couldn't even while away the time by getting pissed in one of the town's few bars, because I had no one to get pissed with.

The only thing that really sticks with me about that holiday is, because the hotel room was tiny and I was with my Mum pretty much at all times, it was the longest I'd been without a wank in three years.
(squirrelking has never seen anyone shit like that before, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 1:10, Reply)

We went to Pontins for a week when i was about 4, my brother was 7.

He had some bad food and ended up with the...erm...well...S.Q.U.I.R.T.S.

He was on the loo all the time that day...then we get a knock on the chalet door, the people downstairs were complaining the toilet was flushing down into their chalet and please could we stop flushing it until it was fixed.

My dads fairly short and to the point answer was "No"

Must have totally runined their holiday...I wonder if any of that family have already posted on this thread :O
( diffy maybs, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 0:48, Reply)

With friends, not family..
.. but since when did we stick to the topic on b3ta?

We were staying in New York and checked into what we christened "Hotel Armageddon". We had to wait 45 minutes to be given a room, which was horrible. We asked for towels at the front desk, and started filming the manager there. Had he known, he probably wouldn't have told us he'd kicked out some drug addicts to make space for us. We were sharing a bathroom with their friends, so we promptly found somewhere else to stay.

Another Brit came down to complain about the lack of blankets whilst we were filming...

Video here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FJqt2Kai5U
( teedyay, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 0:35, Reply)

never holiday with brothers
my brother managed to ruin my first 2 spanish holidays.

the first time we went, i was all excited to go into the pool(deep end, i'd just learned to swim) with my mask and snorkel.
my brother decided he wanted to try to kill me by waiting till i got near the edge of the pool and putting grapes down my snorkel. i choked so much, i almost drowned.

second time, i stayed in the sun all the first day. being the pale-skinned nordic blonde type, i burned like a bastard and ended up in bed for 3 days, huge blisters on each arm. one blister on each, that covered the whole arm. both arms, shoulders and back are covered in freckles and tiny white scars to this day.
after i recovered, my sister decided to teach me how to play pool. being the only left-hander in the family, i held the cue differently to everyone else. my brother decided he didn't like that.
he came screaming over to us, calling me a stupid bitch, and grabbed the cue. i, however, didn't want to let go.
a ten-minute battle ensued, culminating in my brother yelling triumphantly as he wrenched the cue off me, swung it and hit me in the face with it.
the tip of the cue caught me right in the corner of my eye. seriously, another millimetre and he'd have blinded me.
i spent the rest of the holiday with a black eye and 2 purple tramlines up the side of my face.
the little shit got away with it, too.
bastard.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 0:35, Reply)

Fucking terrible caravan holidays
Imagine being a randy teenager in a tiny caravan with the object of your desires. Sounds all right, doesn't it? Oh no. Not if you were me and you were forced to go on the succession of evil caravanning holidays with my barmy ex-girlfriend, her parents and three smelly dogs.

To ensure that no fruitiness took place (as if we would, literally two feet away from her parents - I mean that would have been kind of weird, and besides, every single movement in a caravan is amplified a million times so that the slightest cough shakes the cutlery and sends plates crashing down out of the cupboards) I was forced to sleep next to her father, a chronic snorer and a pipe-smoker with a cruel streak for minorities, while she stayed up the other end with her mother.

The three ill-trained mongrels - invariably sweaty, smelly and covered in mud, rain and their own crap - used to jump on my head and settle there for most of the night, gently wheezing dog-breath into my delicate teenage nostrils. Either that or lick my face or stick their grubby shitty claws into my eyeballs.

"Aww, he's playing, he likes you!" they'd say.

And what I was thinking, from the safety of my ill-fitting sleeping bag, was: "Get this fucking dirty dog off my face; when you're not looking I'm going to kick it in the balls. I'm only here because I want to fuck your daughter."

Being 16-17, it was constant blue-nuts territory of course; the slightest brush against her fragrant body caused every pint of blood in my body to gush into the bits you enjoy washing most. Helpful in usual circumstances - oh, what I wouldn't give for that priapic propensity in my mid-30s, by the way - but not when the sexiest thing you do all day is take a turd in a chemical toilet in full knowledge that everyone in the caravan, and in the windswept field in the middle of nowhere beyond, can hear your strains, it's no use having a stonking great chubby all day.

I used to count down the minutes from the moment we set off on the motorway. Oh, I could steal seconds of sanity, by wandering off in the shops or going to sleep on the beach, or nipping off for a crafty tug in a public toilet whenever my adolescent urges got the better of me. But on the whole it was the most dreadful, horrible, unpleasant world of pain and misery that I've ever experienced.

Every time I see a caravan overturned on the motorway I do an impression of Marco Tardelli and cheer to the rafters. They deserved to be smashed to pieces, obliterated from the world, crushed and burnt. Do the world a favour and destroy a caravan today - you may just save a young boy's teenage years from being so shit.
(budddwyer This thing will hurt someone, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 0:25, Reply)

Roll down the windows!
The only place my family ever vacationed was Las Vegas as my father was addicted to Pai-Gow Poker. On the morning before our depature my Mom took us to a 99 cent all-you-can-eat breakfast at a sleazy hotel off the strip. I must have ate about a pound of eggs and had two glasses of whole milk. Usualy at home we drank the non-fat variety. The breakfast was quite tasty and satisfing.

The drive from Vegas back to Los Angeles is about 4 hours long. It was August so it was about 40c in the Nevada desert outside. I sat in the back row of our Toyota Previa mini van. My sister was in the middle row and my parents up front. The first fart crept out of my ass about 45 minutes into the trip. The smell was indescribable. My eyes burned and I started giggling, knowing that my family would be experiencing my flavor soon. My sister started screaming and my parents got about half-way trhough asking her what was wrong before they started screaming too. The mini van's rear windows didn't roll down and my father refused to roll the windows down up front and lose the cool air. I farted about once every five minutes as the van marinated in my stench. My fart smells just kept getting worse and worse. After 2 hours of this my father was finally forced to roll down the window because he was throwing up.

And that's how I learned I was lactose intolerent. For the years after that I was expressly forbidden to drink any milk before the ride to Vegas and back.
(anotherlogan and the whit he shites, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 0:22, Reply)

Hide and Seek Champion of the World..
Went on holiday to Kos with my family in 1991. I was only 18 months old, so I played hide and seek with my nan.

They've still not found me 16 years later.

Take that Maddy.

Ben Needham.
(Code of Post lives at the moment in time that is..., Thu 2 Aug 2007, 23:58, Reply)

Morecambe
My grandparents used to have a caravan in the Lake District when I was growing up. I used to love going into Morecambe as there was crazy golf (I believe Noel Edmunds built a Crinkly Bottom theme park on it years later).

At my first attempt my Dad was trying to show me how to line up the shot and tap the ball the 12 foot or so it needed. I decided that having seen golf on the TV before, I knew what I was doing and drew the club back for a full swing.

Unfortunately, my Dad was standing behind me and got whacked full in the face by the golf club. He was not happy.
(hagis_uk, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 23:32, Reply)

aciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid
malta in 1989 was a great place for booze, drugs, slappers and snorkels.

my old dad would have been proud
(globalloon, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 23:16, Reply)

Pontins....
says it all really
(Foulkesy123 The one and only..., Thu 2 Aug 2007, 23:03, Reply)

Cat Attack
Benalmadena, Spain around 1991. We were staying in a nice apartment, right on the sea front 2 stories up.
The apartments had a nice courtyard round the back, with a huge bouganvilla growing. And under this bouganvilla slept a large ginger tom cat.
One day my dad (yes my DAD) and I filled a 2 gallon bucket and after taking careful aim at the poor, sleeping, content ginger tom; dumped all 2 gallons on it from a hight of 25 feet. Direct hit. I've never seen anything move so fast in my life.
My Dad and I were laughing like drains and returned to the apartment to relax after the hijinks. About 30 seconds later there was a loud banging on our door followed by the immortal words, "Did you pour water on my cat?!" I shat myself. My Dad being made of sterner stuff brazened it out and insisted that, "We would never do a thing like that. We are animal lovers" etc.
So there you have it. Going on holiday with your folks is fine as long as they are cool. I'm meeting them in Vegas in 3 weeks. I wonder what we will get up to...
(brycemonkey No fatal accidents since:, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 22:51, Reply)