Pwllheli
We went to the Butlins in Pwllheli, North Wales back in the early 90's. 'I'm Too Sexy' was number one if that dates it.

Anyhoo, the hellish, eight hour journey in a hot train that took me, my parents, my little brother, my older sister, her husband and her two small screaming kids to the grey environs of North Wales was just the start.

We got to the chalet to find that the floor was covered in filth (which my brother in law swept up into a small mountain in the middle of the floor for us to marvel at), the beds had no sheets (just plastic, slightly piss smelling mattress covers) and not only was the lino in the dingy bathroom buckled and yellowed by years of abuse from errant piss but there was a great steaming turd blocking the toilet.

My Dad kicked off and we at least got some sheets (they didn't give a toss about the floors and my Mum had to smash the logger to bits with a toilet brush) and we set off to enjoy the fun on offer around the rest of the site. Surprise surprise that was a shitheap too.

The tennis courts consisted of a couple of patches of loose, grey grit with a net stretched across them, most of the snooker tables were ripped and the highlight of the arcades was Pitfighter. Imagine.

The rollcoaster kept getting stuck mid movement with people in it. It did this three times in a row but, depressed as we were and keen for any semblance of fun, my brother in law and I remained in the queue, in the rain, hoping for our turn until they finally decided to close it down. It was a similar story with the chairlift but that I time I actually had the honour of getting stuck in it.

They also had a cinema that showed films that were already out on video and I ended up watching Rocky V over and over to escape the boredom. The audience stood up and cheered for Rocky at the end of every showing, punching the air and hugging each other. I felt retarded by association.

The highlight of the trip? Cracking one off into the bathtub of the piss reeking bathroom whilst looking at a picture of Bridget Nielsons norks.

Best family holiday ever was at Sandy Balls caravan park in the new forest. Aside from the peurile fun to be had with the name I also got attacked by enormous ants (fair enough, I was kicking down their massive hill after all) and got to enjoy a 1950's kind of childhood experience by the innocent joys of swimming in the Avon, climbing trees and fishing with my dad. Every morning started with Wac-a-day too. Classic.

This was too long and I didn't swear enough. Cunting fuckwallets!
(mudflaps, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 11:48, Reply)