My Dad's a lovely bloke but -
there are some things he doesn't understand. One is that you have to arrange accommodation well before time if you are travelling around Christmas time. Preferably 3 months ahead.

By a miracle one year when I was about 14 we managed to get a roof over our heads in a stray caravan in a coastal caravan park while a cyclone did its thing a few hundred kilometres away. It rained buckets and blew like crazy. The caravan rocked back and forth in wind gusts of 50 mph. The next day we went home.

The next year I slept on the ground beside a beach, Mum tried to sleep in the car. We went home the next day.

Decades passed and I joined them for a few days in a rather nice locality in southern Queensland. We only had the place he'd rented for three days, left it too late again. I saw the year 2000 come in from a motel in the middle of bloody nowhere.
(Codenwarra, Wed 20 Aug 2014, 2:30, 8 replies)

Romania
Never again, never ever again.
I was like travelling back in time except with a lot more poverty.
(Testricals Having a dump, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 21:34, 49 replies)

I've lived in Scotland most of my life.
I've never been camping in Scotland, and I don't know anyone else from Scotland who's ever been camping in Scotland.

I'm beginning to think that tourists are fucking idiots.
(Plague Hedgehog 'posting crap', Tue 19 Aug 2014, 21:22, 4 replies)

I went camping without any proper stuff.
Then I had a shit time.
(McChinaman banned, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 20:45, 3 replies)

Scooby Doo goes to Scotland
I used to be in a car club (yeah, yeah alright) and they did a weekender in Scotland, in March. Me & a mate decided on a whim to go - cheap small tent, borrowed a sleeping bag, away we go.

Get there (Blair Atholl campsite) pitch tent drink beer all good. End of the night, and the bed beckons. It's about three degrees out, and falling.

Turns out the sleeping bag I've borrowed is a Scooby Doo one (for no adequately explained reason) and has all the thermal retention properties of a j-cloth. I ended up spending the night in the toilet block of the campsite hugging the radiator for some meagre warmth. The most miserable night, ever.

Fuck camping in Scotland. Fuck it in the kilt.
( Fathter Puddytat Kill Kill dat widdle boid is mine on, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 19:53, 2 replies)

North Wales take 2
Inspired by The Cats Mother...

...for my friends 21st birthday we went to Wales, North Wales to be specific, camping. Yay!

There were 4 of us crammed into the shittiest ever Toyota Corrola Y reg clapped out absolute, begging out to be crushed piece of shit.

We didn't have a plan, as in we didn't know which campsite we were going to, which turned out to be an issue as no camp site seemed to want to take 4 young lads (I was 18 at the time). Eventually after much discussion with a lovely old couple they allowed us onto a site, we pitched up, got pissed knowing the next day was going to be MASSIVE.

Next day was a relatively nice day, there wasn't much rain and the sky only looked vaguely fucking miserable. So it's the birthday boys big day, and he is drinking southern comfort before 12 noon, this turned out not to be the "best idea ever" in the end trust me. We decided to head into the local town/village of what I believe was called Abergele (not 100% sure on that) to get some scram and have a few beers before going out later on. With this accomplished it was back to the site, use the worst ever shower room, get your glad rags on and go to where else but...Rhyl, this is about 7pm now my friend is still clutching a bottle of southern comfort as he stuff his face with kebab meat and chips on a bench on Rhyl. Needless to say we end up basically pissed on the sea front in pants and the worst shirts you have ever seen with a very drunk 6'4" 17 stone dickhead.

He reckons he has sobered up and we flag a taxi with the idea of just getting him back to the campsite, whilst in the taxi we pass a nightclub I believe was called Rosy O'Gradys my drunken friend forces he taxi to stop here we get out and go in. Things seem to be going ok, however the taxi driver when letting us out leaving us with this parting shot "I will take you round the back lads cos that's where they are going to kick you out when they realise you are scousers".

About an hour in our friend is becoming a nuisance, apparently the rule is no drinks on the dance floor, which he does repeatedly, then out of no where he is dove on by a doorman and flattened. The music stops. The lights come on. We run over just in time to see my mate who is flat on his back unleash a complete monster of a punch and knock this door man clean out. We were then literally "Charlie chuck chucked" into the fire exit doors at the back of the club. The taxi driver was right.

Outside in the freezing cold air, wearing the worst shirts imaginable, bladdered and now some of us covered in blood and ripped pants...we seem to fit right in. Trying to calm my friend down was not going well, he went into an arcade that was still open and nicked the two things you hold off an air disc table and wanted to go back and "twat the welsh cunts" with them. No taxis would stop for us, the police did but just to see what had gone on, had a chuckle and fucked off again. Another friend of mine called Joey was attempting to calm down the pisshead birthday cunt and for his amazing efforts of diplomacy got a fucking smack in the mouth (I secretly enjoyed that bit).

We do eventually get picked up by a taxi, back to the camp site. I woke up underneath the corolla, piss wet through, freezing. Joey and the birthday boy didn't speak to one another for the next week or so. Also the arcade we went to to clean up (where the air disc shit was stolen from) the pisshead birthday boy had left his jewellery in the toilets there (like a sovereign ring or something...class I know).

So yeah, it wasn't great, but I will remember it always. The birthday boy is still called "The Beast" on the basis of these escapades.

TL:DR couldn't give a fuck mate
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 18:03, 17 replies)

North Wales
I was a teenager and my parents had decided on a camping holiday in North Wales in late August, early September. A lovely camp site apparently, just at the foot of Snowdon. It rained for the entire week and we never saw the top of Snowdon once because of the low rain-filled clouds.

I found out the hard way that leaving a sleeping bag against the side of a wet tent means a wet sleeping bag, and there were toads and huge spiders living in the toilet block guaranteeing a week of constipation for me. Evenings were spent huddled round the camping Gaz stove and occasionally shrieking and swiping with a shoe at the daddy long legs that were hatching out of the ground inside the tent. Then my mum 'accidentally' slammed the boot of the car on both my dad's hands, and as he was the only one who could drive, we were stuck at the campsite for a few days while he recovered the use of them.

We couldn't even get a lay in in the mornings, because every bloody morning at 6 am the Red Arrows came screaming down the valley as it seemed they were using it as a practice run. If they'd waited until later in the week, it might have cured my constipation.

I have been camping since, but never again in Wales.
( The Cat's Mother Not a People Person., Tue 19 Aug 2014, 17:37, 16 replies)

Went to London
and couldn't find the town of Cockney anywhere.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 14:16, 2 replies)

I won something on a scratchcard in Tenerife.
Still waiting for them to put the money in my account.
( Fork Has lost his bash virginity!, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 12:09, 8 replies)

Ah, another excuse to trundle this one out again...
When I was a mere slip of a lad, maybe 13 or 14, I went on a summer "Outward Bound" camping week with my school. This was in the Sussex countryside, and we did all the usual things: climbing, canoeing, orienteering and so on. One night, we did Night Manoeuvres - orienteering in the dark.

Now I freely admit that, as team leader, I cocked up and we got rather lost. It was a misty night, and we were a little way from where we should have been. Perhaps half a kilometre or so, nothing major. But this was a mistake that nearly cost us dearly...

We were tromping through a field. A fence loomed out of the mist, so we clambered over it. As we continued, I noticed that the grass seemed to change colour up ahead. Curiously I wondered what was causing the change. Right up until I realised that the grass hadn't changed colour, it had in fact stopped. About a metre away was the edge of a rather well-known cliff known as Beachy Head.

Yes, Beachy Head. 162 metres (530 ft for the Merkins) of sheer, ball-shrinkingly terrifying verticality. Which I'd come within about two steps from reaching.

What the FESTERING LEFT-HANDED WANK were they thinking, sending a bunch of kids out on night manoeuvres, in poor visibility, on BEACHY FUCKING HEAD????

Still gives me cold shivers, 35 years later. On the plus side, I'd have probably made the evening news.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 11:16, 10 replies)

Whenever I go abroad
why can't them foreigners speak English? Always ruin me holiday what with them not being able to speaks the Queens English.

Innit?
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 9:55, 7 replies)

Pregnant and abandoned
When Mrs Moon Monkey was about to spawn, we decided to go on a holiday with my elderly parents - since we didn't think we'd have time/energy for holidays once the sprog had arrived. Now my folks have very simple tastes, so we booked a caravan in a park.

Just for a change, there was nothing wrong with the caravan, the park, the weather or any of the usual disasters. Everything was set for some quiet but pleasant family time. Then Mrs MM started to feel unwell.

Not "Oh my god, the baby's coming" unwell, thankfully, but given her advanced state of knocked-upness, we decided that professional medical advice would be a good idea. Since she didn't feel up to driving, my dad - a typical 75 year old Little Old Man in a flat cap - drove us into the nearest city, and we found a hospital with A&E. He dropped us at the door, and went off to park, arranging to meet us outside later.

After the doctor had done the requisite poking and probing, and concluding that there was nothing serious going on, we made our way down to the main entrance, hoping that dad would be somewhere in sight. But no luck.

We waited. And waited. And waited. We tried his phone - no answer. We tried mum's phone - she hadn't heard from him, and he wasn't answering her either. We're starting to worry. An hour goes by, and we're still standing in the lobby of the hospital. Well, at least we're in the right place if her waters break.

Eventually, well over two hours later, he appears. It turns out that after finding a car-park, he'd got lost attempting to walk to the hospital. Eventually he gave up, and flagged down a taxi. Then he realised that he had no idea where he'd parked the car, so they drove around the city for ages before finally stumbling upon it. Having retrieved the car, he then got lost again trying to drive to the hospital.

You'll not be surprised to hear that normally mum does the navigating. Nor that we never, ever let him forget it.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 9:25, Reply)

Practically every holiday I've been on..
I've had the shits.
(Vinnie Strokes Got bummed on, Tue 19 Aug 2014, 2:42, 6 replies)

Holiday in the sun leads to lots and lots of pain
Ten members of my family went on an all inclusive holiday to Gran Canaria for Christmas week last year. Bloody great. All you could eat and drink all day long, and two pools full of nubile European wenches in bikinis.

Lucky me woke up in agony on Christmas day, and then ended up in a hospital on Boxing day on two consecutive Tramadol drips, which didn't even take the edge off the pain I was in. The doctor diagnosed it as Sciatica. On the night before we went home I had to call out a doctor to get a really bloody painful injection in my arse cheek just so that I could sleep.

Oh, what fun! The only person I'd wish Sciatica on is Thatcher. Pain like you would not believe.

You know that holiday insurance that you sometimes can't be arsed to sort out? Lucky for me I did and it covered the £500 in Spanish hospital bills.

When I got back I had an MRI diagnosis of a slipped disc, which was causing the agony, and then I was off work until the end of May. Still hurts like fuck now and mostly I'm whacked out of my gourd on lots and lots of tablets.

Apart from that the holiday was great.

TLDR: goes away abroad, comes back broken.
(morebasheder is still awake, damn it!, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 23:44, Reply)

ian botham's footpenis
ian botham's footpenis
(Albert Marshmal|ow Having a lovely holiday and I can prove it, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 23:31, 10 replies)

It was all going so well.
Venice. Girlfriend. Balmy weather. Delicious food in outdoor cafes. Romantic walks. The canals. Gondola. Girlfriend lying back in gondola, totally blissed out. Pigeon shat into her open mouth.
( fred zeppelin II: Electric Boogaloo, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 20:18, 19 replies)

I went on holiday to Malta with my girlfriend rather pricey but the hotel was apparently the dogs do dahs in summary it was shit , the missus was mental the air con did not work and the return flight was delayed meaning an additional 70 quid taxi for a ride home.Mostly it was shit total crap, but the half starved cats and the locals where nice
(Big Throbbing Gristle, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 19:31, 10 replies)

i used to nick wallets from losers who went on holiday in rhyl

( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 16:05, 11 replies)

School trip when I was 13 or 14, coming back from Austria on a coach
Long delays at Calais meant taking shelter in a freezing cold building with no blankets through the night, then a particularly rough crossing meant that I was heaving a thin green soupy vomit into any available container until the ferry lurched again and spilled it everywhere. I was delirious all the way back from Dover but still managed to find a bit more spew from somewhere to get down myself. I think I've been iller, but not often.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 13:31, 3 replies)

Some cunt in Rhyl nicked my wallet
When I was about 10 playing on double dragon in an arcade. That kinda put a downer on things. Fucking pikey welsh spastic cunts
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 13:13, 33 replies)

I have calculated every holiday to perfection and have thus always had a FUCKING GREAT TIME
losers
( Glovington, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 10:11, 7 replies)

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 10:00, 10 replies)

France
In general I've had pretty good holidays, but one in particular stands out.

I'd just become a stroppy teenager and my family decided we would all go to France to stay in a friend's villa in La Rochelle. This meant me and my sister squishing into the back of my Dad's brand-new Ital with my fat aunt for a long drive south in the heat.

The villa itself was quite nice but there wasn't a lot to do in the area and I considered myself too old to play on the beach. I found out that windsurfing is a lot harder than it looks, and that French girls aren't interested in spotty English teenagers. My sister smacked me on the head with a golf club and my dad refused to pay for any decent meals. Things got better when my mad, chain-smoking cousin turned up on his motorbike with his hippy girlfriend, became tense and embarassing when they shagged noisily at all times of the day (the villa had a surprising echo) then got worse when he had a huge argument with his mum (my aunt) and stormed out.

We stopped off at friends on the way home where the friend's son (a bit older than me) tried to sexually assault me before dinner. They gave us a case of wine and some bottles of home-made spirits (the friend was a pharmacist) so my mum was terrorised all the way home in case we were stopped by Customs. The car broke down about 50 miles from home. I don't think we ever left Britain on holiday after that.
(Smale is stuffed, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 9:32, 7 replies)

I went on vacation with a group of friends to the Mojave desert one year
I thought we would have a relaxing time sitting outdoors and sleeping peacefully under the stars, but it ended up being totally in tents.
( the prick of misery pierced my foot on a spiiiike on, Mon 18 Aug 2014, 1:59, 2 replies)

In fish worshipping circles it's quite normal to have
carpy holy days.
( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Sun 17 Aug 2014, 21:30, 4 replies)

Once went on a road trip with Johnny Cash
www.johnnycashhasbeeneverywhere.com/.....never again
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Sun 17 Aug 2014, 20:28, Reply)

Me and the wife went on holiday to Portugal a few years back...
...least the tapas was good.
(Sick Boy likes to swear a lot, Sun 17 Aug 2014, 17:20, 5 replies)

I went on a sausaging holiday in Soho.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Sun 17 Aug 2014, 12:05, 4 replies)

This sounds a barrel of lols.
www.alternet.org/food/mcdonalds-summer-camp-looks-child-labor-camp
(DBT became a fruitarian on, Sun 17 Aug 2014, 7:47, 1 reply)