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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)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

When is too fat...too fat?
I went with my family on some sort of spurious camping trip to France. I say 'spurious' as it amounted to little more than an opportunity for my parents and their friends to get hammered on cheap local plonk every night while the kids 'played nicely'. Given that some of us had reached the ripe old age of 15, this was more than a lttle bit naff.

So one night, I sneaked a few bottles of the local mouthwash and headed for the beach with a trusted chum. To cut a long story short, I ended up bagging off with possibly the fattest girl in the Western hemisphere. How fat, I hear you ask?

I had to lift her stomach up and out of the way to go down on her...and there was a white scummy film under the folds to boot.

Still did it.

Can't remember anything else about the holiday as I spent the rest of my time in La Rochelle (or wherever it was) trying to burn all memory of that ghastly night from my brain.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 22:37, Reply)
my friend laura
went skiing in france recently with her older brother nick and parents. she was pissed off at having to share a room with nick but thought the free holiday balanced it out.

half way down the very first slope, she started to feel a serious rumble in the jungle. by the bottom of the slope she had sprayed steaming chunks of hot green vomit all over the slopes and her arse cheeks were only welded together by effort of sheer will.

she spent the next 3 days in bed either thinking she was dead or wishing she was dead. on the fourth night she was feeling a bit more human when nick staggered in at 5am, more drunk than she had ever seen anyone. he proceeded to strip off and barf all over the floor. the sight of her brother's hairy cock and arse bashing around the room and his stinking pile of vom was not conducive to her recovery. it made laura's eyes bleed and made her start vomiting again.

nick didn't get out of bed until the last day of the holiday.

on the last morning, her dad put his fork in his chicken, paused, went green, and chundered all over the breakfast table. there was a distinct smell of dad shit as he got up hurriedly and waddled swiftly away.

and her mother redecorated the inside of the plane as they landed at heathrow.

(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 22:26, Reply)
Holiday 84
Two weeks in Canada. Day one we went to Wonderland (fucking ace theme park) and I won a Hanna Barbera plastic cup. Day two mum and dad decided to visit some friends on the other side of the country, leaving us abso-fucking-lutely free to do whatever we damn well pleased for the rest of the holiday. Nothing but lovely sunny days, the sweets and fizzy drinks are in full flow and the $1 bags of cheese puffs are as big as a pillow. Cartoons all day every day if it was too hot to go out, and people in the street would say 'Hi there lil lady!" instead of "Why don't you go back to where you came from darkie?" We'd never had takeaway pizza or real ice-cream before (this was 1984 after all) so we pigged out constantly. On the last day we stopped off at a weird place called Macinac Island which didn't have any cars but was full of nothing but fudge shops. Handmade fudge, smooth and delicious, made right in front of you like a Roald Dahl fantasy. (I just googled it to check it wasn't a figment of my imagination.)

And no holiday since has ever topped this one.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 22:03, Reply)
Butlins, Pwithelli
1989 it was my first ever holiday mum booked us a chalet in the cheapest Butlins she could find. It was ok actually as they had decent amusement arcades and free snooker and pool. Entertainment was courtesy of The Barron Nights and Bernie "twat with the yellow bird" Clifton.

They had the coldest swimming pool ever, cold enough for your testicles to shrink into your stomach. They also had that wonderful 60s invention of a restaurant tact onto the side of the swimming pool, with windows so that you could see people swimming (really puts you off your food when someone starts pulling their cock out of their trunks for a quick underwater fumble)

Strangely enough for Wales it was actually quite hot, my dad wore his braces over his bare chest and got completely sunburnt, except for 2 white lines up the front and a cross on his back - typical Englishman on holiday.

3 weeks after we got home the whole place was flattened in a freak storm - which I'm sure improved the place 100%
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 20:49, Reply)
I went to Rome..........!!!!!!!
Not really anything to do with holidays with the Parents but its fairly eventful.

A few years ago we were invited by My stepson and his then Girlfriend to Rome in January to celebrate my wife/his mum's BIG birthday !!!!!!!!

When we eventually got to Rome and found the hotel, After a slightly embarassing introduction to the Hotel, (The Porter was going potty about the fact that our suitcase had started Buzzing); No, it was only an Electric Toohbrush that had somehow managed to turn itself on !!!).

We decided to go out for a meal.

Very Nice too.

Forward in time about 4 hours and I wake up in the middle of the Night feeling Like death warmed up, Started to throw up at which point Mrs Pir881 wakes up to tell me to get back into bed and stop Feckin around.......I promptly threw up every where and spent the rest of the night on the Bog, Head down the sink at the same time as the world was falling out of my Bum ....ugh not a good thought even now.

I eventually get back into bed at dawn to be told that the FAMILY are going out to see the sights of Rome, A place I have alwys wanted to see.

"Fine" says I "enjoy yourselves"

I spent the next two days flat on my back, On my own, While the others saw the sights I saw the Inside of a Rome Hotel room with very dodgy Moving Wallpaper and all kinds of Interesting stains.

Come the Sunday morning the Family decide that they want to go to the Vatican to see the Pope, Why I have No idea.

Anyway I am feeling better so I decide to go with Them, Big Mistake.

Ever been on the Rome Underground on a Sunday morning when half of Italy appears to be heading to The Vatican, Oh as well as half of the Eastern European Olympic pickpocketing Squad.

I lasted 2 stops, Started to feel grotty again and got off the train on my own only too realise that I hadn't got a feckin clue where I was !!!!!

It took me hours to get back to the hotel and to continue with the Pooing and Throwing Up !!!!

We were due to fly back to Heathrow the next day, But after three days with no food Mrs Pir881 decided that she would bring me up some food from the Continental Breakfast Buffet, The aforesaid Porter had other Ideas;

"it is not posible to take food to Bedrooms"

But he had never met MrsPir881 before, terrifying she is!!!!

I ended up with a veritable feast served in our Room!!!!

I made the Plane and actually avoided throwing up again.....Result !!!!

So the majority of my time in The Eternal City was spent chucking up, Walking around The Central Station feeling like shite while trying to find My bed !!!!

It turns out I had managed to catch Winter Vomiting Bug and very Unpleasant it was too

Sorry for the Length of this but I feel much better about My Non Visit to Rome after this post.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 20:03, Reply)
I went to Pontins
with my mum and dad last year when i was 23. My boyfriend and dog were supposed to be coming but at the last miniute he pulled out and said he would rather stay at home to 'look after the flat'. So i spent a whole week with people looking at me like i was special needs, or some kind of hermit cos i was with my mum and dad. Never again.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 18:51, Reply)
An uncomfortable situation
arose on a family trip to Floria when I was about 12. The holiday had started off badly anyway as we'd got lost in the rental car on the way back from the airport in the middle of a terrible hurricane, but I think the worst thing about that holiday was when my Mum made me go to the chemist with her to buy some Canesten.

As my Mum hurriedly shoved the packet on the counter and scrabbled in her purse for the correct money the spotty 17 year old boy behind the counter decided to make the whole situation ten times worse by picking it up and exclaiming "urgh, are you a bit itchy down below?" in front of the queue that had been forming behind us.

Needless to say we made a swift exit, my Mum fire-engine red and me asking loudly "What did that man say to you? What did he mean?"
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 17:14, Reply)
Bad things happen....
... to other people when we go on family holidays. For some reason the Whippity family is a Jonah for others. Every time we went away, something bad happened to strangers near us: a shooting in Nuremberg right in front of us; a fatal knife fight at Paris Saint-Lazarre station; numerous fires and road accidents; and some poor soul getting out the wrong side of an old slam-door carriage while we waited to set off on holiday.

I can't recall any wince-inducing moments in the final holidays as a teenager, so must have repressed them....
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 16:07, Reply)
My One And Only Holiday in France
Was a school trip when I was in year nine, (15 I think).

I was a vegatarian at the time, (this is going back ten years, so you can imagine the amount of food avialable to me!). So my first encounter with the worl renowned French cookery skills gave me food poisoning.

That in itself was bad enough, but this was the night that we had decided to sneak girls into our hotel room, (we were kept on different floors of the hotel). Cue me needing to be in the shitter most of the night making a complete arse of myself. Now, thinking it couildn't get much worse I decide to leave the toilet, to try and get some action - only the door wont open. The fucking thing is jammed and no one can get it open - meaning we now need to alert a teacher to get me out of the damn toilet, (whilst somehow trying to hide 4 girls who shouldn't be there).

Now, if that was all that happened to me in France, I might be inclinded to go back, HOWEVER a few days later we were visting Mt St Michel and Saint Malo, (very nice looking fortified village). I go up on the great big wall that surrounds said village,doing the tourist thing and taking pictures, when I'm grabbed by this drunk French homeless person and held over the edge of the wall! (It's about 20ft), sceaming at me in what I assumed to be French, (the only French words I'd attempted until this point was "un Cherry Coke please, er that one" - whilst pointing and rasing my voice, which is as good as speaking the language).

Luckily, somewhere from the back of my mind I manage to pull the words for "I don't understand, I'm English" and "HELP!", at which point he lets go and his girlfriend comes over and explains that he thought we were taking photgraphs of him, (WTF!?).

Closer inspection of the holiday snaps shows the guy walking towards me, so I suppose technically he was right.

The only decent thing to come out of the holiday was rigging a game of strip poker, which kinda made up for the near murder. Suffice to say, I've not been back since and don't plan on it anytime soon!
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 13:38, Reply)
Holidays aren't what they used to be.
Trouble with holidays? Pah!

When I were a lad, we lived in Berlin. One day we were all given some pretty stars to wear with our friends. Then we were given a ride on a choo-choo to a "holiday camp".

Holiday camp? My arse. All I did there was work while the olds went off to have a shower after the trip and never bloody came back.

Food was shite too. Never went on a family hol after that. Still, I got to dig lots of holes in the garden there.

Ticket to Hull, please.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 10:16, Reply)
here we go
well we have: pissing on the door of the caravan from the inside, pissing the bed (whilst sitting upright), being skegged (trousers down) and being thrown into the toilet by my own mother but the real highlight was managing to get off with the really hot, posh, older girl and parting our seperate ways before any of the former happened. in the space of about five minutes.

oh and theres the old classics like catching my brother shagging in the tent many times

my dad going looking for my sister with a flashlight and shouting her name when she was 30 mins late.

Length? 3 weeks, every year
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 2:19, Reply)
naturist camp
I used to go with the parents.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 2:18, Reply)
Poisoned on Corfu..
Went on holiday with Mum and Dad to Corfu. I was 15 and a fairly hardened drinker by that point. I was also out for as much girl action as I could get! Yeah! I met a few German girls on the beach who only ever really seemed to be amused by me. And so I drank by myself every night, never really bold enough to talk to anyone.. I drank anything I could get my hands on, mainly Bacardi and Coke and the local paint stripper they call wine, Retsina.. I would either pass out on the beach, or puke in my apartment. (I had a balcony and the floor was tiled right up to the edge. I found beach towels particularly effective as a squeedgee to swoosh all the puke across the floor and off the balcony! Would wake to find the local cats feasting on the fallen goodness!)

It was the last time I went away with Mum and Dad. I couldn't bear being so alone and/or drunk..
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 1:21, Reply)
OD on Hayling Island..
I can't remember the year but it must've been the late 70s. My brother convinced me that the brightly coloured, sugar coated Junior Panadol were in fact tasty sweets.. I climbed up and go them from the high cupboard, ate the whole pack, don't remember alot else apart from the Jelly and Ice Cream in the emergency childrens ward of Victoria Hospital (?)
(, Sun 5 Aug 2007, 1:11, Reply)
What I realise now is that my parents weren't very well off back in the 70s and 80s but thanks to much effort on their part combined with the generosity of family and friends we had some brilliant holidays.

My brother and sister were prone to squabble when confined for any space of time, so as the eldest sibling I had to sit in between them to prevent any damage being inflicted. Only on one journey, in the days before seatbelts were compulsory in the back of cars, we were all loose in the back of our lovely Maxi, where the seats had been put down. Brother and sister were at their most irritating, goading each other into further heights of mania and finally, when they had become an entangled mass of limbs and shreiking Sister bit down, HARD, on Brother's leg.

Only it was her own leg.

Tears were shed, 'told you so's' were said and the remainder of the journey was wondrously subdued.

The incident has now become a family legend to be wheeled out to amuse the same brother and sister's own children. The look of admiration on their little faces is wondrous to behold.
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 20:49, Reply)
I had the time of my life...
When I was about 11, I went on holiday with a friend and her family to Cornwall. Oh the laughs we had.
What we though was car sickness from me passed to the whole family. Whilst I was vomiting in the car they vomited at the holiday camp.
I just went swimming every day while the whole family spent in the caravan.
Well at leat I enjoyed it...
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 19:24, Reply)
My parents don't really do Christmas. Most years we'd go away somewhere to get away from it all, which was fun, unusual, and so on the whole most family holidays were pretty cool.

However... (and this is a partial pearoast from an earlier QOTW)

In November 1998, it was just after Bill Clinton passed the Iraq Liberation Act of 1998, I was 16 and my family decided it would be a good idea to go on holiday to Jordan. It was - there were next to no other foreigners and locals were extra friendly to us lest they let the troubles completely kill the tourist trade.

Except for one 'incident' that could have been.

One day, a guide decided that part of the tour included showing us where some special scene or other from Lawrence of Arabia was filmed. We all climbed into Jeeps, and headed off into the desert.

The ride was a bumpy one, and we were being jolted back and forth as the driver kept his foot to the floor. All of a sudden the cars stopped just behind a big dune/hill thing where no one could see us. We were completely out of view from the nearby town, with just a grinning driver and apologetic guide. Why had we stopped?

"Puncture" said the driver.

We looked at the wheels, they were all fine. The guide looked white as a sheet, which was impressive considering his normal skintone.

Now, it is worth bearing in mind that the trip was almost cancelled - while Jordan itself wasn't particularly affected, there were those who weren't looking all that kindly towards westerners, especially towards Americans, and well, to some people Brits and Americans are very alike.

Oh shit. We had been driven there to be killed.

I was somewhat naive at that time, and having never been to a desert before I was somewhat excited and didn't really pick up on the concerns of those around me.

I went for a walk, by myself, into quite literally the middle of nowhere, while everyone else was slightly concerned about madmen jumping out and shooting them. I got some great photos though. I'll post them if anyone cares.

Needless to say (and to cut a long story short) the gunmen killing us all didn't happen. Another Jeep turned up half an hour later, I returned to the convoy, and the engine troubles were fixed - in the broken English of our driver "puncture" meant any problem with a vehicle.
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 16:44, Reply)
I ten to have good family holidays. Very recently, though, I had a half-family holdiay. My stapdad was in England for two weeks, and my mom, me, and best friend were in Florida. Hot, sticky, and yet, enjoyable. We swam almost everyday in my aunt's pool, we went shopping in Hot Topic outlets and MAC stores (we don't have MAC in any malls near me). There was a juice/smoothie place right near the house. We went there a lot. They played techno music, and we danced while we waited for our smooothie-things. It was great.
I also go to England (nearly) every year to visit family. I love it but at 14 with no one my own age, and not getting along so much with my cousins (I sorta get along with Ella, get along quite well with Jack but he was out last time, and never see Kiki) it gets a little boring sometimes. I might try and convince parents to let me bring Emily again. She really wants to go to England. :)
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 15:44, Reply)
To the twat who tried to start a fight with me outside Bournemouth's "lovely" exhibition centre (I was barely thirteen and was with my mum and dad and my little brother) I hope you're in prison and getting rammed up the arse daily.
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 15:17, Reply)
my uncle was Quentin Crisp

He'd frequently take the whole family on camping holidays.
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 13:46, Reply)
I went on a camping holiday...
...with my best friend, James, and his parents. And I gave them all nits.
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 9:12, Reply)
Rectum? It nearly killed him!
As previously stated my family only went on vacation to places that had blackjack tables. This meant we always either had holiday in Vegas or Lake Tahoe, which is like Las Vegas with ski slopes. While we skied, Dad gambled.

I skied alone as I was much more proficient in the sport than my Mum and Sis. We had planned to meet up for lunch at noon. My mother had bought us all sandwiches at the 7-11 (the US equivelent of a Tesco Express, I believe) the previous evening. I was the only one who ate the egg salad sandwich of undetermined age.

After lunch I went back up the lift. As I was getting on the highspeed quad lift to the top of the mountain, I felt a slight gas pain in my gut. Half way up the lift I thought, "Man, this sandwich is not sitting well with me at all." When I arrived at the top I was hunched over in pain. I was ghost white, hunched over with sweat pouring off my face. The lift operator asked if I was alright. "No!" I screamed and I was off.

I'm flying down the mountain with my butt cheeks clenched togher while screaming in pain. I really wasn't sure if I was going to make it. The moguls were not helping at all. The lodge was in sight.

I started releasing my skis as soon as I was on flat ground. I was still moving when I took the second ski off so I tumbled a few times then landed on my feet and took off running. I didn't even see which direction my skis skidded off to. I ran as fast as a guy in ski boots possibly can. I'm tearing off layers as I enter the ski lodge. I high tail it into the restrooms and I'm ready to unleash the fury of my meal at the buffet the night before.

I get in there and every single goddamn stall is taken. Just as I was about to kick in the door where some 12 year old is taking a piss, a stall opens up. I push some guy out of the way and latch the door.

The bathroom was completly empty in 30 seconds. The sound of me screaming and my colon discharging combined with the smell must have been horrific.I sharded the sandwich, everything I had consumed for the past few days, and a penny I had swallowed when I was three. 5 minutes later and I'm still sitting on the toilet, trying to catch my breath when I hear the door open. Some guy took a step in and gagged audibly. I found this funny. I chuckled and a fart came out. Then the guy who walked in starts chuckling. I'm going "Heh-pfft-heh-pfft-heh." Which makes this guy bust up laughing, which gets me laughing which triggers round two of the sandwich vengence and the bathroom is cleared once again.

I'm in there for an hour before I was sure it was over. I was still sweating when I came out. My mother was like, "Where were you? Oh my god! You look terrible! What happened?" I says "Take...me...home."

It wans't so much length as it was volume.
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 6:57, Reply)
Someone tried to kill us - probably a Frenchman
Alright, it's not entirely on-topic but I'm posting it anyway.

It wasn't the best of starts to a holiday. We had a flat tyre on the trailer within view of the ferry (this was pre-channel tunnel days) from Dover. We got the next one, got over the channel, and the same thing happened again, just the other tyre on the trailer.

My old man, being a (genuinely) smart fellow, swiftly deduced that the trailer was overloaded, and took most of its contents and put it in the back with me. Ho-hum.

The rest of the holiday went OK. Except for one unfortunate incident.

We were driving on a French motorway in the middle of nowhere in heavy rain, when there was a BANG!!! and the car veered violently to the right, with a BOOOM, BOOOM, sound, until we came to a halt. Until then (I was about 12, I think), I had never heard my Dad say "Shit" before. He said it more than a few times at that moment.

Frankly, we were lucky to be alive.

He got out and had a look. Nothing evident.

He started the car again, and there was the Boom, boom, sound again. Odd.

He had another look.

Ah - that's the problem. A wheel was hanging off the back axle by two bolts. Not good.

Eventually we were rescued by a kindly English mechanic who happened to be on the same stretch of road as us, and who took us to a garage.

It turned out that some bastard had taken a couple of the screws holding a wheel to the back axle and replaced the hub cap, so that we would not know.

Someone had tried to kill us.

Other than that, we had a great time...
(, Sat 4 Aug 2007, 0:06, Reply)
its more the car journeys there
I was usually on sick bucket watch as my parents did not trust my younger sister with this duty and my other sister claimed scooping toddler vomit or catching it in a bucket made her feel nauseous. wouldn't it anyone???

Of course, i found nothing better than having to hold a container full of purple sick for several hours because some fool has given my brother a bottle of ribena and sweets before/during a car journey. at least I had plenty of warning as he would start screaming and sobbing whenever he felt he might be sick. and he would always throw up if he fell asleep. there's never any guarantee that it will actually go into the bucket. what is the most amazing thing in all of this is how long it took my parents to work out that my brother had travel sickness and find him the right pills.

im pretty glad i dont have to do this anymore
(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 23:57, Reply)
My holidays
have been extremely varied.

They range from the downright awful - week in Yorkshire in the pouring rain in October, in a cramped, dingy and downright filthy little cottage (used jamrags under the bed), to the otherwise lovely bedsit in Devon with the 17 ratdogs and water running down the wall, to the week in Minorca in October when it only didn't rain the one day.

One of the worst was a couple of years ago. Having made the incredibly stupid decision to invite Stalker Boy to Paris ("he can't be that bad, it'll only be four days"), we set off for the capital of Froggyland*. Within ten minutes of checking into the hotel, he wanted to look up "gay clubs" so we could go off and get into them so he could pretend to be gay, take photos and make his best enemy Tris jealous. We were both 17 at the time and I wasn't willing to piss my parents off for what Stalker Boy wanted to do. Even if he was ratting me out about what time our "deep and meaningful" (= one sided rant at me about how I should "forgive and forget" anyone who had ever wronged me and not ever have sex) had ended "Ooooh, she didn't go to bed till MIDNIGHT!", which was pissing me right off.

Aside from this he was being his usual twattish self during the day, dragging me at top speed across Paris and terrifying ticket officers at La Défense for being too much of a wanker to admit he'd made a mistake. Admittedly I'm not a big fan of metro systems anywhere, but even when I said to him I remembered jumping the barrier with an old lady after we came up the steps he still carried on ranting and raving and calling me "fucking stupid woman" (note absence of parents) and trying to stab his ticket into the RER line and wondering why it made that angry beeping noise. Then this happened.

Ticket man: Look, that's not the right line.
Ticket man: No it's not. Here, have some more tickets.
Stalker Boy: RIGHT THEN! *marches back to the wrong ticket machine and pushes ticket in*
Ticket machine: *beeps*
Stalker Boy: *marches up to girl mopping the floor* DO YOU WORK HERE?
Girl: Y..es.
Girl: Down the stairs and to your right.
Stalker Boy: ...oh.

After this, I was invited to join him and his family for a week in Austria. It would have been pleasant enough if he wasn't there; the sad thing is that the rest of his family are absolutely lovely and have no idea that they've spawned the devil. It was beautiful - we went to see Hitler's house and all kinds of stuff. It even snowed up there. However, he would barge his immense frame into my room every night to watch the pr0n channel because his own was fuzzed out, and despite my protests: "Hey, not cool" (= "turn that crap off, if it comes up on the bill, you're paying"), he persisted. Thank Eris he stopped short of getting "David Dickinson"** out to fwap and said "scared it'll make you a lesbian?".

The final morning, he came down to breakfast and announced that his room was "haunted". As I've mentioned before, Stalker Boy claims to attract ghosts and was "a passenger on the Titanic", a repressed memory jogged only by the release of the James Cameron film in 1997. By a dressing gown-shaped thing. For the last night, therefore, we all had to push all our mattresses into his mum and brother (who must have been about 13)'s room.

You read that right. He was 17, constantly boasting about how independent and mature he was, and afraid of a ghost so he wanted his mummy.

Click "I like this" if you think he's a big fat wuss.

I'm going on holiday next Friday with the parents to Cornwall, in a place that sounds like it belongs in Father Ted. Could be interesting...

* My ancestors were French, so I'm allowed to say that.
** Yes, that really is what he calls it.

(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 23:23, Reply)
My mum decided that as I had a few mates we'd all go on a camping holiday FFS in the New Forest (we all lived on the IOW) when I was about 14. All in the same tent !! Cue the hangers on - school kids - well it was that time when puberty was all set in and none of us really knew what was going on sexually. Well I did. One bloke I saw his eyes one night and I knew (now, but not at the time) he was masturbating in his sleeping bag.

Apart from that, it was a camping holiday I'd never contemplate again, thanks Mum.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 23:18, Reply)
Throwing up
Haven't had any real bad holidays. Worst being staying in a static caravan with my dad, stepmum, thier 2 daughters and my sister. And being 20. I just got drunk and stoned with the oldest of the daughters and sister. To the point of chucking up outside some random caravan after drinking lots of spirits.

Two bad events spring to mind through...
First being a nice camping holiday down in cornwall. Sisters birthday, family friends (my godparents) decide to treat us to a massive meal at a pub. Me thinks great being the lover of food that I am. Massive seafood platter for starters I eat 3 prawns before running outside and being violently sick. Spent the rest of the meal sat outside whilst everyone else was inside gorging themselves on delights not seen since. (I had had a dodgy burger at a steamfair the day before)

Second, On holiday in the states, Driving up from LA to San francisco beautiful sunset and all. Sister informs everyone that she's going to be sick. Dad ignores this vitial piece of information. Que sickness, down the back of a seat in a hirecar. Me jumping out due to smell, dad jumping out very pissed off (him being a not chilled out yorkshireman) Orders sister out of the car, opens boot to get stuff to clean up the mess, dropping bags in his anger, including the one contianing two bottles of authentic tequilla. Next day wondering what the strange smell of booze is :X.
Best bit about that holiday through, going to an english bar at 5 in the morning to watch Manchester United beat Chelsea to take the treble, and seeing a grown man crying over football :D

Length? bigger then 85% of the population thank you very much.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 22:56, Reply)
Family holiday
The family was dragged to Yorkshire in the mid 80s, and the holiday consisted mainly of sitting inside waiting for the rain to stop. On the one day we were able to venture out, we went walking on the moors. Suffering from some minor gastric ailment, I needed a poo but we were miles from a toilet of any description, so I squatted behind a bush. The satisfaction and relief at being able to unload several litres of fizzy gravy were only short lived as I realised I had misjudged the trajectory and completely covered my grundies, jeans, socks and trainers. The feeling of helplessness as my family, unaware of my plight, walked further and further away, while I feebly attempted to clean myself with the 2 sheets of tissue paper my Mum had given me, will never leave me. I was only dimly aware of the other walkers' shocked expressions as a distraught 9 year old covered in poo, naked from the waste down, ran across the moors after his parents.

The trollies are still there somewhere.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 22:51, Reply)
the caravan
once a year we go on a family holiday to the caravan.

when my sister was 4 she was the female anti christ and caused my mum
to consider drowning her on one particular holiday.
unfortunately they settled for locking her in the caravan while we all hid
outside so she would behave. it was working until she decided to
head butt the window and then attempt kicking the door down.

then there was the holiday were a family friend was getting
incredibly stressed out so while we were at the club on the campsite,
he proceeded to get incredibly drunk then join in the kiddies disco
by hitting the dance floor and doing all the actions to the ymca
and many other classics.the kids looked terrified but he looked
like he was having a great time.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 22:50, Reply)

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