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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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And that's before we even got there...
Being a child of the 80s, and from a large Yorkshire family to boot, my holidays consisted of the following: 1) a coach 2) a big seafront hotel in Torquay, Rhyl or similar and 3) the majority of my family - my aunts, uncles, cousins etc coming along.

The following tale however is from my (legendary!) dad, and one of his favourite holiday memories.

We were all on a hot, stuffy coach, setting off for our adventures. Most coach-travellers will agree, that, national-express style, 80s package holidays via coach involved at least an hour of travelling around the county you live in, picking up fellow holidaymakers. Me and my mum and dad got on, and about 30 minutes later we picked up my aunties and uncles (who lived but five miles away!). We sat on either side of the aisle, taking up about 20 seats. Now, my aunty Vera (who looks just like Rita from the Kabin in Corrie, and is a bit of a clean-freak), had an older man sitting directly behind her. It was about 8am and the man was making odd coughing-sicky noises. My dad was already grinning at this point, as he knows his sister can barely tolerate sitting on a coachful of possibly disease ridden strangers.

The coughing man's wife was heard to say 'oh just put them in Arthur!' to which he replied 'you know I can't put them in first thing in't morning, Jean!', at which, unbeknownst to my aunty but in plain view of my dad over the aisle, he produces a full set of false teeth from his hanky. Every time he tried to pop them in, he'd gag. My dad found this, in equal parts, gross, yet hilarious, as my aunty was on the verge of spilling her breakfast.

It all came to a head when Jean forced Arthur to 'just shove them in quick' and Arthur spat the false teeth with such force and height they arched over the holidaymakers in front in a rainbow of spit and hit the driver, who freaked and kicked them back down the muddy aisle, where they skidded to a slimy stop next to poor aunty Vera!

The result? Aunty V puked, the driver had to make an extra stop to 'clean up', we never spoke of the matter again and my dad almost pissed a kidney several times in almost spasm-inducing fits of laughter every time he had a flashback.

Oh, and it wasn't the teeth landing at the feet of my now green aunt that pushed her into vom-country. It was the fact that Arthur stood up, picked up the teeth, brushed the worst off them and popped them in his gob, stating 'ah, I feel better now!'
(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 11:24, Reply)

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