Thursday, 30 June 2011


I’ve been camping!!
No no, not the kind you’re thinking of. This involved pitching a tent, looking at who had the biggest and things going bump in the night. Despite the weather arsing it down for 72hours straight we still had an awesome time. This was largely due to the fact that our temporary abode was borderline palatial. There aren’t many occasions where you can proclaim how proud you are of your erection without much embarrassment, but this was one of them. Me, the missus and the sprogs slept in the north wing. The carpeted living room, kitchen area and south wing were used as a dumping ground for the wife’s vital essentials.
We had gas powered heating/cooker, electric, TWO tv’s, four beds, four chairs, two tables, and a larder. We were proper slumming it. Drinking water came via two five litre water holders which were filled from a tap about 25metres away. It was like being homeless or something!

(behold, the Ritz)

The only glimmer of luxury were the toilets. You’ve never seen clean like it. Confused men kept wandering out to check they were in the right bog. The potpourri and “soap” were really quite intimidating. The showers, crappers, urinals and sinks were cleaner than a royal wedding. The mirrors were so clean you could see your face in them! Despite my best efforts to draw willys and boobs in the condensation they never lasted more than a day. There was even piped in music.
I’m going to recommend them to the tourist board.
Other than the wc’s the campsite itself was barely acceptable. It only had two heated swimming pools! The crazy golf was nowhere near crazy enough although gaffer taping knives to the windmill and putting piranha in the water hazard did help a little. The shop was very good but their sensible pricing meant they lost massive points on the captive audience front. We had to spend nearly twenty quid on chocolate and crisps before even felt a little bit ripped off. The onsite soft-play was clean as well. None of the balls in the pit smelt of wee or anything! I can’t comment on the tyre swing as I was asked to leave before I could measure the tread depth. I felt this was a tad unfair as I was both “over 3 years old” and clearly “taller than the bunny ears”. I’ve left the exact details with my solicitor. A long time was spent at the outside play area with its wooden fortress and connecting slides, even the kids enjoyed it.
We decided that the rain shouldn’t ruin our camping adventure. We should let it ruin our excursions as well. With the sat-nav route set to “B-roads only” and “popular with caravans” we ventured out. Instinct and flood warnings guided me to a nearby castle. Small boy plus real castle equals a quiet afternoon. The castle in question had been there for six hundred years. I can’t imagine what it had seen and endured over that time but I’m pretty sure it’s biggest test was my son with his stick sword. You could feel the six feet thick stone foundations move as he charged the ramparts and shouted through every arrow slit. Hell have no furry like a three year old fuelled up on Hairbo. The noise he makes at full gusto could split atoms.

(he's smiling because five minutes ago there used to be a roof....job done)

After several hours of charging round like a mentalist he relented and calm was briefly restored while he crashed out on the back seat. His younger sister is much more civilized and decided to do the usual and eat herself to sleep.

To be cont’d….

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

SUMMER, get it while it's hot!!!

The rain is that little bit warmer and I’m down to just five layers of clothing. You know what this means!!!
Summer is officially here. If you’re a bee, wasp, fly or any other winged insect, then you’ll have probably flown through our house recently. Sorry about the state of the place. It’ll be a lot tidier when you reappear stumbling across the carpet in autumn moaning that it’s too cold to fly.
It’s also a time for us cavemen to make fire in a rusted out barbeque and give everyone food poisoning. Thanks to some industrial sized tree pruning I now have an inexhaustible supply of fuel. So much in fact that I’ve had to purchase a hatchet. Surely, it’s one of the all time man-tools of all time? It comes with a lifetime guarantee on all ‘chopper’ jokes. The leather sheath just adds to the man-ness of it all. It has a flat end for battering stuff and a nail puller, but I’m not sure what that bit does.
My little chiminea is now constantly primed and ready to go at the drop of a swan vesta. How can a mini-axe bring so much pleasure? Who cares! Now stand back while I try to cleft this wood and keep my digit count in multiples of five.
Ladies, there’s no point in you trying to rationalise our love of fire. After all we don’t rationalise why you need quite so many shoes, or your love of Glee. Gawd don’t even get me started on Glee. I’ve had to recalibrate the shite-o-meter for that one.
The all time man tool of all time full stop is the knife. Alas though, we’re not allowed a proper one in the house because you girlies will use it as a screwdriver and end up with a free trip to A&E. The sharpest blades in the house are on your Venus razors and you can’t whittle with one of them….I’ve tried. I ended up with a very smooth lollypop stick and not the vicious pointy sabre tooth scarer I was trying to craft.
Summer is short in the UK. Normally it’s two weeks in May and then about five good days spread across the rest of the year. The exception is the south coast, which enjoys endless summer suns. The old and people with a metabolism the speed of a glacier love it down there. However, the prevailing southwesterly wind has meant there is a constant smell of old wee wee and Werthers Originals around Dover. I’d love to blame the French I really would but this one is our fault.The rest of the country enjoys almost continual assorted shades of grey. It’s not always been like this though. Oh know! only a few thousand years ago in Skara Brae (Orkneys), (top of Scotland), (the lumpy bit above Newcastle), (haggis munching kilt wearing wineoland), (yes there), the sea was full of fish that today are only found in much warmer tropical waters. Nowadays those fish have long since vanished, probably down the gullet of the nearest penguin. Go back in time a bit further and you’ll find Birmingham under a mile of ice. Happy days. The UK is obsessed with the weather because we get so flipping much of it. In the two minutes it’s taken to construct this drivel it has rained, blown a gale, been nice and sunny and finally settled on rain again. Last week it was hotter than Miami. Today it’s colder than a vengeful polar bear drowning some kittens for fun. I don’t know whether to wear shorts or skis. I’d cover my arse and wear both but the colours would clash horribly. Maybe if I had a different pair of shoes to match every single item of clothing I own and then sub-divided them into say ‘winter’ and ‘summer’ outfits I wouldn’t be in this mess…..? It would take an organisational genius and a mammoth wardrobe space to figure that one out. Ladies, over to you.