Summary
WE'VE been recalling the joy that is a family holiday, one of the inevitable by-products of which is divorce. Spending all day together is a risky business. Repeating this experience up to 14 times is asking for trouble. If God had wanted us to spend all day together, he wouldn't have invented work. Holiday travelling is, as we all know, a nightmare. An opportunity to show the world how fragile your relationship is. Hanging by a thread. We started arguing as we were walking to the taxi. We stopped when we were leaving the taxi two hellish weeks later. Thankfully, it was a different taxi driver. The children were, throughout the journey, the Spawn Of Satan. Their programme turned to Evil. And Toilet. One of them wanted to go to the toilet at all times. It was a perfectly executed programme of bowel--led irritation. Pleasingly, each of them refused to eat anything offered on the plane. The stuff we'd already paid for. Instead, they wanted to eat rubbish - and expensive rubbish - alone. Travelling with children means anything, absolutely anything, for a quiet life. So we put big bags of sugar, via the medium of fizzy drinks, chocolate, crisps, and other brightly coloured artery-clogging aids, into each child on request. During the journey, each child took on the pallor and manner of a manic monkey. I think there was a link, between the sugar and the monkey. By the time we arrived in Portugal, each child was convinced he could actually fly, and was pleading to be given the chance. I've written to David Attenborough to see if I'm on to something.
I've asked him if monkeys would be calmer, more mature and businesslike if they gave the sugar a miss. The first day of the holiday itself is glorious. No work for two weeks. Fourteen lies- in. The sun, gloriously reflecting off your pasty body. The first drink. The first meal, served by a dishy little waitress. She smiles at you. The first female smile for a year, since the last Minx-like Waitress. This summer, on our first night, we wandered into the Old Town at Albufeira. The living statues were everywhere; you know, the complete gits who stand on boxes, absolutely stock still, and expect you to pay them for the entertainment. The urge to push them off the boxes, which by the end of the holiday was almost unbearable, was easily suppressed. Back to the first day. We heard some music. A Native American group was playing, and dancing. We went to observe.See the full content of this document
Extract
Holidays: A Time to Relax and Unwind - or so We Are Told
I'll swear the music was en...
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