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...
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 2 Aug 2007, 16:43, Reply)