We spent most summers making some *forever* drive to Cornwall or similar...
...at about 3am because my Dad wanted to 'beat the rush' as they are wont to do.

We'd always be woken up and bundled into a car that was filled with more useless crap than even our house seemed to be.

One day we arrived and stopped at the car park of the chosen low rent Caravan park, the obligatory mini-stove was fired up to provide a cup of tea and Dad decided we MUST fly the kite we brought with us. So as we sat and watched eating sandwiches which already tasted like they had gone off, he goes off to show us how it's done. Running backwards to get it in the air.

We notice a car door open behind him, but do we tell him? Do we fuck. He ends up somersaulting over the door and landing in a dejected heap. Literally screaming with rage why we didn't tell him.

We obviously answered by laughing for about 3 days.

Don't keep waking us up at 3am to take us on a shit holiday to Cornwall where it rains for 7 straight days then Dad.
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 1:44, 1 reply)

"rains for 7 straight days"
You just reminded me why I never stay at caravan parks.
(Redemption blamed it on the Bossa Nova since, Tue 26 Jan 2010, 5:43, closed)