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)