Family HolidaysBack 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?
(
chthonic, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:33)
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Y Viva EspanaMy family only ever went to Magalluf, Majorca. Not much use to me going to an island for binge drinkers aged just six, but I did get a suntan.
One night we went to a more kid-friendly bar. Alongside the drinking area, there was a creche of sorts, where the kiddies are locked in a corner of the bar and entertained by a clown and his monkey cohort. Poor sods, having to amuse tired and grumpy little brats while mummy gets drunk enough to forget the little accidents even exist.
After a boring first night of the monkey just sitting on a barstool and the clown being a guy in a suit with no discernible clown-talent, I wanted to really have some fun on night #2.
My idea of fun was to grab a balloon and repeatedly clump the monkey over the head with it when the clown wasn't looking. The monkey had the patience of a saint but I do recall the clown having to quickly find my mother because the monkey was beginning to go a bit eyetwitchy at me and he didn't understand why.
Strangely enough, we never went to that bar again. We instead went into a bar with an ominously slick floor where my mother broke her ankle "dancing like a kangaroo in high heels".
We didn't go to Magalluf again.
(, Tue 7 Aug 2007, 19:36, Reply)
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