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This is a question It was a great holiday, but...

... the night a racoon broke into our tent and attacked us will live on in my memories.
... coming down a dirttrack mountain road with no fences with the back end of the car fishtailing about left me needing new underwear.

I'm off on holiday next week somewhere nice and safe. Tell us your holiday stories.

(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 9:55)
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Lost at sea
Imagine the laughs i had being swept offshore in a dinghy for 12 hours.

I fell out with the only other occupant in the rubber turd of a ship, my mate.

It rained. Hard.

I became seasick.

I was attacked by some marine life.

And then i spent another hour on a ship on the way back to the east of scotland. But im grateful to the coast guard, even if it was the worst holiday of my life.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 11:18, Reply)
Naked Islamic sleepwalking
Mr Lizzle sleepwalks. Usually, if he gets out of our bed in the night, the movement wakes me up and I can usually calm him down and get him back to bed. It is, therefore, unfortunate that on a visit to Malaysia, we chose a hotel next to a mosque with rooms whose doors opened into a sort of open air corridor, with views for miles around.

The rooms only had twin beds, so when he got up, I didn't notice it. In his sleepwalking state, he became convinced that he was in the wrong room, with the wrong wife, and scarpered, naked, outside, locking himself out in the Islamic night.

After wandering around a bit, then becoming paranoid and spending a nervous quarter hour crouching in a bush, being bitten on the bits by mosquitos, he tried a cautious knock on the door he had come out of. I woke up and let him in - he, still unconvinced I was his wife (bless him - he often fails to wake up completely from these episodes), had to be taken into the bathroom and shown his sponge bag and favourite shaving gel before he would accept it was really his room, that we were really married and that it was four in the bloody morning and I really needed some sleep.

I love him really.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 11:02, Reply)
Do one day holidays count?
I work too much to take holiday time, but sometimes I book a day off. Today was my friends birthday, so we went to Disneyland. Very excited about it, as we get in free thanks to my father in law being the longest serving employee (he's worked there since 1957) or something.

Trouble is, I'm a spacker. I use a walking cane the majority of the time, and as I can't walk distances, I have to use a wheelchair. I looked and felt like a complete and utter twat and was very bemused that I had to spend my one day holiday (sob) looking like a hot chick on wheels.

But it was very cool getting on all the rides without having to queue - they whizz you straight through the exit and onto the ride.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 8:47, Reply)
We were travelling to see my parents...
It was Thanksgiving here in the States, and my parents were in Myrtle Beach SC. So I loaded up my kids and my girlfriend and we drove down to them.

As we were going through some little dump of a town a cop car was about to pull out in front of me, but then slammed on his brakes when he saw that there was actual traffic going by. Needless to say, he pulled me over and charged me with speeding (I wasn't, he was just being pissy). None of this is remarkable, except...

Remember that horrid 70s TV show, "The Dukes of Hazzard"? Remember Boss Hogg? This was an older and squishier version. I had to work very hard not to crack up when I heard the thick backwoods Carolina accent coming from his toadlike face...

...especially as we had just been listening to Arlo Guthrie's "Motocycle (Significance of the Pickle) Song" and just gotten through the part where he squashed a cop...
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 8:42, Reply)
School holiday
A school holiday to Vienna many years ago - you'd think that when they booked the holiday they might have checked certain things. Such as, is the hotel in the middle of the red light district and generally charges by the hour? Especially if you're taking a group from an all-girls school.

Though given the man who organised the trip was the man who said this on the way to the hotel:

"My, those are tall women!"
"Erm, Sir, those are drag queens..."
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 8:14, Reply)
Ahhh Thailand ......
where the weed is sweet an teh jails are nasty ...
my g/f was paranoid that I'd take some weed back to UK so to convince her otherwise I emptied the last bag over the edge of the boat on teh way to teh airport - "there, that's it all gone ..."
Stop-over at Otopeni airport on return flight - looking through my wallet for last few dollars for cup of coffee I discover a further bag of weed I'd accidently (HONESTLY!!!) exported from Thailand - not wanting any more surprises I went to teh loos to get rid of the evidence. I tipped the bag down the loo to then discover the flush doesn't work - all this weed is floating around in teh bowl looking at me saying "you really should smoked me back on the beach ..."
Teh moral of the story I think is that poly-drug abuse is damn good fun ... ?

Now we have kids we are too poor to travel abroad so thankfully this sort of thing cannot ever happen again .
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 7:59, Reply)
Twas a great holiday but
I woke up.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 7:13, Reply)
Bridget Jones
I'm 28, 30kg overweight, unemployed and have been single for two years. So I decide to go on a driving holiday by myself. I end up in Ballarat, staying at the George 2000 hotel. The nice lady at the Hotel says she has to warn me by law that there is an over-28s nightclub happening in the bar below. Sure enough, there's nothing on TV and the nightclub is generously playing my most hated songs from the 60s, 70s and 80s. I decide to go to the movies at the really ace, 1920s cinema next door and the only interesting thing on is Bridget Jones' Diary. Just what I need to feel less pathetic and lossy.

Other than that it was a really lovely holiday.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 6:07, Reply)
My mom's trip to Italy
Last year my mom and her friends took a lovely trip to Italy that was scarily interrupted toward the end when one of them got very ill in Venice.

Nobody in my mom's group had been to Italy before or spoke Italian, so it was an unnerving experience that night trying to get their sick friend onto a water taxi(!) and to a spooky, ancient-looking hospital that was apparently empty and "closed" for the night.

The friend's sister stayed with her at the hospital the whole time, and they both had to cut their vacation short to return home to the states, where fortunately she recovered.

As for my mom and the rest of her friends, the remainder of the trip went smoothly (worries and sore feet aside).
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 3:23, Reply)
When I was about 12 I went to Yosemite Nat'l Park with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. I was intent on taking as many pictures as my disposable camera would allow. We stopped at a gorgeous clifftop vista; unfortunately my view was blocked by trees. So, naturally, I ran to the tree-free edge of the cliff and was just about to start shooting when my uncle grabbed me from behind to stop me from falling into the void. In my defense I thought I had a good grip on the ground and it was getting grabbed that startled me.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 3:10, Reply)
other half from devon...
... where they smoke only the best, not crappy soap bar like what i'm used to in glasgow.

his mates live in a town, his parents live 10 miles away so we opt to stay in BB for the night, not wishing to ask the in-laws for a lift home at some ungodly hour - anyway, the weed is hefty, i've had a few pints, i'm toking away like it's pishy soap bar......thankfully the BB is only across the road from his mates house, i gets in the door and just about manages to razz in the bathroom sink (couldn't make the bog) and middle management spares my blushes by filtering all the carrotts and whatever i had deposited down the plughole - i will never again smoke devon weed, my namby pamby scottish tolerance can't handle it
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 2:35, Reply)
was a great holiday.....
.....in the basque country in spain. loved it. middle management (male) hated it, "food crap, foreigners and too hot!"
OK, basque food is mostly seafood orientated and middle management is allergic so i'll give him that but talk about "johnny foreigner" syndrome.........yes, i think i live with a daily mail reader..........
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 2:24, Reply)
It was a great holiday, but I got chilli on my cock
does this count?

seems to win every other fucking question of the week.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 2:06, Reply)
i did a gap year last year in south africa travelling around with a group of people around my own age (between 18 and 24). A few months after we'd first arrived, on of my friends noticed an itchy rash thing on the upper part of his legs, which continued to spread to his, and then our balls. we have no idea how. as much as we joked about it, we never actually rubbed our balls together, so how they travelled from one scrote to another is a mystery...all i know is that we didnt know how to get rid of it and never considered going to the doctor and so had to put up with a month of scratching the fuck out of my sack. it was so bad id wake up scratching myself in the middle of the night. totally totally weak.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 1:14, Reply)
Literaly five minutes in...
Our family was never really one for foreign holidays, mainly because they were a bit out of our price range. So most holidays were spent in Britain, but as we all get on this wasn't a problem and we didn't end up killing each other. (We came close in Dartmoor) Anyway on holiday in Wales and stopped off in Haverford west to grab a bit of shopping and waste the day before we could dump our stuff off at the cottage.

Found a car-park at the top of a hill and stepped out of the car for the first time since leaving home. Wales was as Wales does and the whole place was dark with the morning's rain. We proceeded to walk down into the town chatting about plans for the holiday. My Dad was walking behind me, chatting to one of my brothers, and had somehow got into a conversation which involved coming up with lots of words which rhymed with bear. "The bear over there on the stair with the..." My Dad decided to sit down rather suddenly, or rather was forced into doing so. His leg went under him and he cried out in pain.

While the sympathy was with him for about half an hour, continual complaints about the pain wore a bit thin as we wandered round Haverford-West. About two hours later we drove to a nearby beach, my Dad at the wheel, making noises of pain every time he stood on the brake.

After about six hours of walking on his leg, and driving with it, he finally decided to visit the hospital. The doctors confirmed that it had fractured at the ankle and any excessive force could have caused it to shatter. He ended up needing an epidural, having his leg set in plaster, and spent the rest of the holiday sitting looking out the window.

The rest of us had fun though. Injuries on our holidays are a tradition though.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 0:39, Reply)
Holiday romance? Not a chance!
The first 'lads' hol myself and 5 mates went on together was in a chalet park in Towyn. The highlight was my mate's attempts to pull one of four local rock-chicks (we were all metal-heads). He said to the first "Wanna come for a walk?". "No". He proceeded to ask the same question to the other three girls like a tragic Blind Date contestant, politely turning to each girl in turn. Of course, we're pissing ourselves laughing at this point. Three more "no"s later and the girls go and get off with a couple of local Kreator fans.

The girls weren't even that nice-looking either.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 0:11, Reply)
Oh dear
- On a trip to the south of France with college, being driven around windy cliff-top roads by a mad priest. Who didn't look where he was going. With my teacher mouthing 'HELP!' at me. Same trip, hotel alarm was triggered (which alerted the police station) by my classmate trying to light his cigar by putting some tinfoil in the microwave. 5 times.

- A rabid* cat somehow getting into our tent in the middle of the night, with my dad running about stark naked chasing it with a broom. My brother screamed so loud that the Germans on the other side of the camp could hear him.

- Camping once again, it rained so hard that the campsite steps were washed away. Laaahvely.

- Camping in leeds whilst my parents saw Phil Collins (!)I broke my arm. Thanks. Same holiday, lost my brother down a ditch.

Happy Days.

*may or may not be true...
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 21:08, Reply)
went on a brilliant sking holiday
was with many of my school chums one year and we was sking down a double black mountin and one friend of mine hit a bump and went 2 meters in the air and landed in the snow by his skies bobbing in the wind up and down hurah brillaint never forget it. it felt like a cartoon scene


please keep posting
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 20:48, Reply)
Travelling through Ireland
with the wife and kids (4)aged 5-16, we stopped off at this family B&B for the night. After returning from a well deserved drink in the local, we went into the Guest TV room to settle the kids before bed.As we were watching the TV, squabbling over the remote as families do, and giving our expert critique of the rubbishy ornaments,and cheap 70s wallpaper in the Guest Room, more guests joined us. Not wanting to be rude, and feeling in a holiday mood we invited the other guests to join in surveying the crappy furnishings and decor. This went on for another hour before we realised that the other guests were family members of the owner.We were sitting in their living room!! Stayed 1 night.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 19:51, Reply)
Went camping with two mates ages ago...

* Climbing a mountain, my mate dislodged several small rocks which tumbled down and nearly broke my hand... (about an inch from smashing me)

* Forgot my sleeping bag and proceeded to shiver my way through the night on the aforementioned mountain.

* Forgot to put boots back on in the morning and (STUPIDLY!) climbed down the other side of the cursed mountain in my slippy trainers... Slipped, couldn't stop running... sliding, running, faster, faster and then AAARRGGHH fell about fifteen feet onto my back. If it wasn't for my backpack then i'd have been deaded.

* Later got electrocuted on an electric cow fence. Hurt a bit.

Shit holiday... stormed off home in a mood (with the map!)
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 17:44, Reply)
My only time abroad
And the French managed to ruin it by doing what they do best

1) Ripping off and shortchanging small kids (I was in about year 8)
2) Smelling bad
3) And pissing all over my theory that french women are attractive, in fact during two weeks they're were only two attractive women... a lesbian couple. Damn.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 17:19, Reply)
I'll never go camping again
I was ten years old and camping on the Norfolk coast. I was playing/gambolling in the dunes and felt a pain in my ankle. I walked on for a bit feeling a bit weird. When I got to within shouting distance of our tent I called to my dad that I had hurt myself and I felt a stinging sensation - he told me it was a bee sting. Some time later I wake up with a hippy sucking my ankle and the various members of the camping party staring down at me, I look down and my leg is twice its normal size and a funny blue colour. Apparently I'd stood on an adder and it had taken offence. We bundle into my dad's Bedford and do one to the hospital. I remember vomit and my mum slapping me to stop me passing out - coma danger apparently or maybe she just felt like it.

Then - next time we return - took some persuading mind - my mum spills a pan of boiling water on her leg on the second day. Cue hospital trip.

At a different campsite - with my mates this time - I bet them I wouldn't take a shit for the whole time we were there - 5 days. They caught me sneaking out of the tent on the 3rd night - in agony and with partial leakage.

That same holiday we met some local girls and got them drunk and stoned, one of them got really ill, green and sick and horrible, the immortal words "Her dad's a policeman - he's going to go mental" still make me shudder.

We also spent a lot of time in the woods chuffing like good ‘uns - until the moment when - after about 30 minutes of smoking - a helicopter started to land about 20 meters away - cue paranoia, every man for himself style immediate evac and hiding in the tent for the rest of the holiday.

That is why I will never camp again.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 17:01, Reply)
Wet dream ? More like soaked nightmare... !
Was really excited when I got invited by my (ex) G/f to go on a boating trip to the lake district a few summers ago (was still a virgin and she Promised we would "do it"–never did as we had to share a room with her bruv) unfortunately I didn’t realise she also had invited her religious fanatic parents, Alzheimer’s affected grandmother, mental drug addicted bother and smelly huge beast of a dog… Before I could say no, this “happy” group was piled into a mini van practically sitting on each others laps… (The group singing for 4 hours still gives me nightmares)

Anyways – stayed in a crappy tent (woke up to the sound of ducks at 4 in the morning (twat twat) Proceeded to hire a faulty motor boat (the motor was the faulty part and stopped in the middle of a HUGE lake, leaving us stranded) Tried calling the rescue service to find out we had no network
So waited for some bloody Americans to rescue us – they just went past taking pictures… Stayed on the lake for hours in the rain… Got home, had a missed call from my mum saying my dog had dies AND I had failed my school exams too

Tried breaking up with the girl for ages but she kept hanging around, you know me and women…. Not much luck. Anyways, sorry about length but needed to share my horrible experience of a holiday!!!
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 16:31, Reply)
It truly was a great holiday
but then I came back to two consecutive kind of miserable QOTW's.
Now I'm sad. AND unhappy.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 16:30, Reply)
it was a shite holiday
Majorca, 1997. Me and the bird have a couple of weeks between contracts and a bit of cash, so find a last minute deal for a few days in the sun in Puerto Pollensa, north of the island. Not that fkng original, but there you go.

Three days into the holiday I run out of smoking materials and get a bit antsy. needing something to do, I hire a bike and proceed to cycle to the top of Cap Formentor, a great lump of rock above the village with an old fort on top of it. Lovely ride up, winding passes, looks like the end of the Italian job except a bit dustier.

My first attempt takes me nearly an hour, complete with busloads of assorted elderly Europeans laughing at me trying to ride a road pass on a mountain bike. Fk em. Becoming slightly obsessed, I resolve to do it every late afternoon and sure enough my time comes down a good deal, I'm quite happy.

About a week or so in, the bird asks to come with me one day. Sure, i'll take it slow. we hire a bike for her, get up to the top of the hill, no problem.

The problem comes on the downhill. A pretty inexperienced cyclist, she gets spooked by a lorry overtaking crazily on a downward bend. The air movement causes her cap to fly off her head. Panicked, she pulls the wrong brake lever. And proceeds to go over the handlebars at full pelt, landing on her face and skidding to a halt underneath a crash barrier. Fortunately, she stopped before going over the edge and a 200ft or so sheer drop.

I can't for the life of me remember how I got her down off the hill. She was in a terrible state. I do remember I was very proud of her. And I remember taking her to the doctor, £200 of emegency dental work (she lost a front tooth and scraped a couple of others. And i remember eating out several times in the village square, with every b*stard looking at me thinking 'He's given her a right doing'.

And I remember an itchy feeling a couple of months later, a mole changing colour and texture, going to the doctor and being diagnosed with malignant melanoma, which had to be cut out leaving me with permanent, if interesting, scarring. Stay coverd up, kids, that's all I'm saying.

Apart from that, seriously, it was a great holiday . . .
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 16:25, Reply)
...I nearly died
We were backpacking in the middle of India and I got some form of stomach complaint. Having not eaten for a week, I then got extreme chest pains which were diagnosed as double pneumonia. A local doctor gave me intravenous antiobiotics for several days whilst my wife arranged flights back to Delhi and then home.

At the local airport, sitting on a bench waiting for a flight to Delhi, a soldier with a very large automatic rifle came over, grinned, tapped his rifle and said "This is my gun". I think he was being friendly and practising his English, but it scared the shit out of me.

Finally got home (after delays whilst the airline lost my reservation) and went to the local A&E. They weren't bothered about the fact that I'd had pneumonia for several days, or that they only recognised half of the drugs the doctor had given me, no, what they were concerned about was the fact that I'd flown all the way home from the middle of India WITH THE NEEDLE STILL IN MY ARM WHERE I'D BEEN HAVING INJECTIONS.

How I got through the metal detectors, I have no idea. How I would have explained it if I'd been stopped, I have even less idea.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 16:19, Reply)
Stupid arse dutch Toilets
Me and My fatha run a small engineering company and at the time we had 3 fitters on the road who used company barclay cards for fuel and accomadation (visa credit cards)

at the time you got point for using the cards and they were racking up and up n up :) so me and a good friend of mine 'gewboy' decided these points were best used to go to Amsterdam for a bank holiday weekend.

to cut a long story short we decided that to properly appreciate the delights of amsterdam we had better get loaded on speed for 3 days flat and 'go at it'

on day 2 i was flaggin a little and the need to go for a shit was getting desperate.. so i found a little off street very didogy looking bar.. if u have been to amsterdam you know the places im talking about...

the place is about 8ft wide and the bar takes up 3 of that... i ask at the bar for the key to the bog and am handed a key attached to a plastic ashtray the size of a dinner plate.

so i open the bog door aad there is the pot right there... the place was as big as a cupboard.. i sat on the bog and my arse was about 2 inches away from worth walls ! now duch toilets are dodgy fucking things anyway they are the wrong way round with a bit of a shelf deal under your ring and the water under your tatters... so finally i manage to relax (was a bit paranoid in there they sell fresh mushrooms over there too you know) anyway 2 days of speed mushrooms yaegermiester n lager on no sleep n half a footlond hotdog comes out at mach 2 sounding like a silenced machine gun.. it hits the shelf and turns 90 degrees plasters the back of my tatters and my legts and makes a lovely neat brown ring right round the indide of the cupboard.

took me 40mins 1 roll of paper (all they had) and my underwear to clean it up.. and bloody hell did it smell in there.... i came you and the place was deathly quiet... said nowt and legged it...

next time i went to holland to see a friends brother with him... caught short again. at someones house. this time though.. nice n firm no bother.. but no bog paper.. so clever me i wet a flannel and wipe me arse with that ring it out and pop it back... howeve by now the turd has stuck the that bloody shelf thing and the flush wont move it... so in a flash of skunk induced insparation i fire up his power shower on the other side of the room (strange bathroom the shower was just a curtain and the whole room was tiled with a plug in the middle) the shower wassnt reach it thoguh so i popped it onto the 'power shower' setting... had much the same effect as training a minigun on the poor little fella blowing it over the walls and sink n floor... that took 10 mins to herd down the central plughole with the flannel.. which i took with me..

fucking dutch toilets ... dont trust em they r out to get you !
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 15:51, Reply)
Quite a while ago now, camping with my family in France. We rent bikes. My little brother, being rather little at the time, was hoisted onto the back of my mum's bike in one of those chair things. I, however, was left with a bike that was far too big for me (to the point that i couldn't stop myself with my feet llke i usually did). Middle of the French countryside, come to a crossroad at the bottom of a steep hill. Only now do i think to check my brakes, which don't work. I hit the ditch, vault the hedge and land in a field breaking my arm. It then took my dad about 10 minutes to find me because he couldn't find the gate, twunt.

Also, not technically a holiday, but while on a European dance tour i ended up in Strasbourg university hospital with a bone-deep gash on my shin. Bad enough you might think, were it not for my wearing a morris dancing costume and only having my rather threatening dance teacher (complete with tap shoes and traditional dutch clog dance costume) to talk to.

Sorry for my extreme length, although i've never heard complaints before
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 15:49, Reply)
Nice is not nice
Basically for such a beautiful location and suroundings Nice is a shit tip. I have never seen so much dog poop in all my life. The locals have those little rat dogs and let them shit all over the pavement - thus leading to cleaning my shoes every day. It is alright for the locals as being French spend £2 on each item of clothing. My shoes cost minimum £80 a pop. MINGERS

Then to cap it all I get food poisoning, which I proceed to pass on to the G/F. She couldnt eat for 3 days. The offending item was a slush puppy (Squishies for you yankees), what kind of nation doesnt ensure that all slush puppy vendors carry out routine cleaning? A nation with no idea thats what. Slush puppies being the true drink of gods, I find it hard to reconcile this extreme lack of slush puppy management.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 15:08, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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