Cracking France...

My Family likes to holiday in France, in particular camp in France. Back when I was 13 (2003), we had one of our usually trips. All was well, the French children bullied me (us) but that was soon set right when me and my twin merked them on the water slides by throwing ourselves as fast as we could down the slides legs flailing at all angles; in order to inflict as much pain as possible to our natural unaware enemies.

After a while of this brutal punishment the French retaliated. We would chase each other down the slides and try and damage each other during the rapid descent. It went on like this for a while until one over enthusiastic French boy hurled himself down right after me. He held his legs up high out of the semi-circular tube to try and deliver the definitive finisher move to win the respect of his peers. He did not succeed. He was not aware that this slide had a strange cover, roof like structure half-way down.

I’ll never forget the look of pure terror he gave me as he realised the calamity that had befallen him; that his legs had been caught and then subsequently broken backwards and perforated. He screamed and water literally turned into a torrent of blood.

Anyway, as the only Doctor holidaying on this particular campsite my Dad was called out to try and do what he could whilst the ambulance and fire crews trundled down from the local city. Naturally, he did his best, but this was a compound fracture (bone through skin) and he did not have the proper equipment the boy yelled and screeched as a bewildered English Doctor pushed and pulled at the bone protruding from his skin. The boy survived however, only with (luckily) damage to the ligaments in his legs and his ego.

After this ordeal my Father was covered in French blood, he looked something akin to a zombie movie and decided to clean himself up. Walking to the toilet blocks he got some very odd stares and a discourteous ‘oo-la-la’ from an old French cleaner hag. Obviously frustrated, my Dad exploded in a fit of rage spouting obscenities and through gritted teeth; the tale of what had just happened to him. This cleaning woman then promptly retorted by putting the bucket of filthy cleaning water on his head..... Apparently the ‘oo-la’la’ was a complement.

I was treated as a hero; I had scored a monumental victory over the French not seen since the battle of Waterloo. They were put firmly in their place. Although, I now harbour a rational fear of water slides and a the shame of Dad who came of worse against a French cleaning woman.

My Dad was tetchy and belligerent for the rest of the holiday, thus why it was a bad holiday; normally he’s quite cool.
(It was really a bad holiday my Dad, but there we go)
(Sepalous, Tue 7 Aug 2007, 11:30, Reply)