My Take on Caravanning Holidays!!
I have never understood caravanning, how the hell is it supposed to be a holiday?
First of all, you get all stressed when trying to hook it up to the car, swearing at the inanimate object known as the tow bar, at the same time getting oil all over your hands, and face if you’re stupid enough to wipe your brow or eat a pork pie at the same time.
You then get all the kids into the car and not forgetting the wife, although you might try to forget to bring her!! Then off on your merry way you go.
Five minutes into the trip and one of your kids needs a wee, ten minutes into the trip your wife needs a wee, pregnancy has that effect ask any women, still, no real excuse, hold it in you’re an adult for God’s sake. “I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to get as much out as possible before we get there and she has to stick her arse in a bucket for a week.”[bctt tweet=”I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to get as much out as possible before we get there ” username=”woodsphil”]
Fifteen minutes into the trip you feel your arm getting nudged and you all of a sudden loose drive in the car as all of sudden you find yourself in neutral, why? Well the wife has now decided its a great time to turn around in her front seat and feed the kids lemonade in the back of the car, she pours it carefully into the plastic cups (I use the word loosely as splashes appear everywhere and I know it’ll be even worse tomorrow, a damned sticky mess.)
Twenty minutes into the trip and we are stopping again, this time, to buy the kids a treat, is not a holiday a treat enough? This time, mum decides that it’s a great idea to treat them to some nice sticky iced lollies. You’re not so sure, after all, who’s going to have to clean the sticky crap off the seats and carpet along with the lemonade tomorrow? Yes me!
Moving on from the constant five-minute trips and we finally arrive at our campsite where you’ll be spending your holidays. It feels like the 60-minute journey has taken all day, in fact, it actually nearly did. You drive through the gates and what’s this, oh, surprise the car is now stuck in the mud, so you rev and rev the car. Your wife, in her infinite wisdom, is telling you how to get out of the mud and that you’re doing it all wrong. She suggests “Why don’t you get out and push while I rev the engine?”, and you say “Oh yes, brilliant idea. We’ll be living with a bucket of poo for a week, so I may as well look like I’ve fallen in it.”The kids are crying, one of them still has half an iced lolly left running all down his arms and clothing…..nice, more sticky mess.[bctt tweet=”‘Oh yes, brilliant idea. We’ll be living with a bucket of poo for a week!'” username=”blazingminds”]
You eventually get out of the mud with a jolt and you hear something smash in the caravan, and guess who’s fault that is? Yes, you’re wife kindly points out “I told you so”, she told me what? Nothing at all, it’s just one of those things women say to make them seem better than a man at driving when they clearly aren’t. My wife has no started given me the silent treatment……great, I am happy now, peace at last, I know how Churchill felt now.
We find our pitch now and what we have paid £300 for a week is a piece of grass and a wooden pole with a number on it. Beginning to think that a cheap EasyJet flight and a cheap hotel in the Costa Del Sol may have been cheaper.
You back the caravan up again with helpful advice from you good lady wife, speaking again, more to the pity. Don’t forget she has expert driving skills!
Ok, journey over and you’re in the caravan at last. You go outside to check for an electric point, guess what, there isn’t one, so off you traipse to find the site owner, he, of course, lives in a huge farmhouse at the back of the caravan park, paid for by idiots like me paying £300 a week in parking fees. You knock on the door and a grumpy bloke answers and says “what”, you ask politely about the electric point and he disappears for a minute then comes back with a car battery. So that’s what we have to power everything off this week, cool, could this get any better? Well, surely it can’t get any worse…..
When you get back into the caravan you decide it’s about time to use the toilet, you find it’s a spacious 1 foot by 1 foot and the plastic loo is filled with a mysterious blue liquid, once you finish you press the flush and a whole at the bottom opens emptying the contents of your bowel movements into a bucket hidden under the caravan. Wonderful stuff you know already that before breakfast everyday , you will need to take a walk with a bucket of cack and wee to empty, that should help your appetite for breakfast.
At bedtime, you are shattered and looking forward to a good sleep, well the beds are all in the same room, the two beds on the side are used by your wife and you, then the kids are using a couple of wooden slats that go across from yours and your wife’s bed. Stinky kids feet in your face, lovely….absolutely no space for you to sleep, just enough for a stick insect.
Moving on to day two now and it seems that the half an hour of television last night has drained all your electric and you are now washing in the cold water, not only that at breakfast you are using milk that has turned in the fridge that has switched off over night. That means that today’s trip with the poo bucket will be even worse as it has the whole families lovely sloppy doings making you wretch…..
You’ve got another six days of this to look forward to. Another six days of everyone hearing every poo that you excrete into the mysterious blue liquid, every echo of a fart you do in the silly little room falsely described as a toilet. Six days of no sleep, six days of the smell of calor gas every time you want a cup of tea, six days of drinking tea from plastic cups, because as your wife continues to remind you, you smashed the real ones when backing up the caravan on day one. Six days of blaming you for everything and then preceding to say that “there is no better sound than rain on a caravan roof”, yes there is , the sound of germans rushing to put towels on sun loungers at 3 in the morning in Spain.[bctt tweet=”‘there is no better sound than rain on a caravan roof'” username=”woodsphil”]
Six days of eating with plastic knives and forks on plastic plates, yes you smashed them too, thank God you didn’t smash the pots and pans or that would have caused an issue of melting proportions. Six more days of hell….
So who thinks that caravanning is a good way to spend a holiday? Oh, and to top it all off, I’ve come home with the flu after being so damned cold all week, oh well, at least I can have a few days off work now, I need a holiday after that lot.