Holidays

HOLIDAYS

I love going on holiday with my two little girls. Twice a year we go somewhere Euro-exotic like Portugal or Greece, always in the school holidays-obviously if anyone asks.

Kira is 12 and at an age where the kid's disco doesn't appeal anymore but somehow finds herself joining in if the right song comes on and she thinks no one is looking. Then there is Carrie who is 7 and whom the kid's disco does still appeal and doesn't care who is looking, throwing herself around to the macarena with the grace of a bag of oven chips off her face on her 18th kid's cocktail laced with more sugar than a bottle of calpol.

I like to people watch, mainly other nationalities but also families new to the holiday game-and it IS a game- versus the seasoned holiday veteran. The olympic sun lounger dash is always good entertainment value. The Germans and the Spanish are favourites to win this event. The Germans leave their towels on the sun loungers then go to the all you can eat breakfast buffet while the Spanish leave their offspring on the sun loungers before going to breakfast.

I particularly enjoy the holiday outfits. I admire the Brits with their 'i'm wearing this neon spandex thong and crop top ensemble-possibly with a cape-and nobody shall stop me for i am on holiday where i know noone' attitude. I love the Germans with their 'i'm going to wear this muscle vest and overly tight shorts because we are a fun nation' viel vegrnugen and the Spanish, Italian and French 'i'm just gonna lay here with my perfectly coiffered genitals on display to anyone who cares to look, for i will not burn as my body is used to this climate. I will also casually rub sun cream into my girlfriend's boobs whenever the mood takes me and look over in my direction more than once and i will rub some in yours too' joi de vivre.

I love the Spanish, Italian and French because they actually do not give one fuck and i admire that.

My favourite holiday guilty pleasure, bar none, is when parents lose the plot with their kids. You can feel it in the air when it's about to kick off. The tension is almost tangible and all reasoning is a redundant spectacle. Little Freddie, who was the model of decorum and cohesive conversation, is now running around the pool screaming 'i don't want to go to the kid's disco! It's shit! and your'e not my real dad anyway!' Meanwhile little Freddie's mummy, who 2 days ago was telling anybody that would listen how her little boy is a piano virtuoso, can speak 4 languages, is the captain os his primary school debating club, scored 4 trys for his local under tens rugby team and most recently has taken up political science as a hobby, is now helping herself to the all inclusive bar and singing 'i will survive' from the top of the lifeguard station wearing nothing but a wonder woman headband while her husband tries to coax her down with a kfc bucket for 6 (which i believe comes with free coleslaw).

Me and my kids look quite normal in comparison in our matching sunhats and sunburnt feet.

We are already looking for our next holiday adventure. 

Vietnam looks nice.