Saturday, August 19, 2006


We're back. From holiday that is. I say "we" advisedly as "we" left as five and returned as four. More of that in a moment. First off, I have read some of your blogs but have resisted the urge to comment. It would seem unfair to announce my return by way of a smart aside instead of a full-blown entry on my organ. Secondly, the gods of IT have proven themselves to be either lazy or vindictive in the extreme in that they have not righted the faults that appeared unprompted on both my and her computers. This may ot even work. We thought we'd give them a week to sort it but that obviously wasn't enough. Thirdly, somewhere north of Yeovil we stopped at a farm and bought scrumpy. I'm now drinking sampling some. I've only had one small glass so far but Sharon thought hers tasted like medicine so I said I'd drink it because it would be a shame to waste it. I'm not a lover of cider, I must say, because like most adolescent chaps one of my rites of passage consisted of hurling two pints of insipid Strongbow down the bathroom sink and having Monday off school. This though is actually quite tasty, although it does have a slight TCP tang to it, and is not the least bit alcoholic. It's like cloudy apple hi=uice. Juice. Why is everything looking small? It's not alcolic at all.

It was a curate's egg of a holiday. Those with the kind of memory not savaged by years of self-medication will recall a certain amount of trouble in the few days leading up to the trip (just read the stuff below, I'm not going to link it). Most of you took these tribulations to be portents of a wonderful holiday. We did only go to Weymouth and you were all sadly wrong.

Stepdaughter LM had been let down by her first choice of friend to bring so somewhat reluctantly, Daft Laura from Bleuuuerghh in Anglesey was drafted in. Daft Laura was also our guest last year and rather blotted her copybook by being spectacularly drunk on our last night and yawning her guts up over the living room end of the caravan and then collapsing in it. Laura is also a vegan. She's also the kind of vegan who wears leather and eats organic yoghurt and finds it difficult to actually justify her lifestyle choice (this is getting increasingly difficult to type. I may just have to have another glass and edit it tomorrow) in the face of such searching questions as, "Laura, why are you a vegan?" Her other problem is that she is rather like a tornado in that once she has hit, the evidence is strewn all about. Either that or she's akin to a large slug leaving a trail behind it. Again, large. I'm a shade under 6', and I look her directly in the eye. This is often the safest place to look at her as she rather optimistically described her size to Sharon as a 14. Yes, she wears size 14 clothes but these have the unfortunate effect of forcing whatever flesh is being contained within upwards, like a giant soufflé escaping over the rim of the dish. Exiting the bathroom on Sunday, directly opposite the open door of the girls' bedroom I was faced with the rather unedifying spectacle of her standing there blissfully unaware one tit was hanging loose after escaping from beneath her top. Daft Laura does not go unnoticed.

On arriving on Saturday after a pretty miserable trip (two returns to the house before we even left the environs of Crewe was a great start), I reminded both girls that I was also on holiday and that meant I was not going to chase around after them clearing away their detritus. They were to be responsible for a change. One of my treats in Weymouth (Bowleaze actually) is to forego breakfast in the caravan and take a leisurely 15 minute stroll across the cove to The Café Oasis for breakfast. If it were up to me, I'd probably stay there all day but an hour with just the paper, a couple of scrambled eggs and a few cups of tea for company is a grand start to the day.

On Monday I awoke to what can only be described as mild chaos. There were clothes strewn about the living area; glasses and bottles everywhere; breadbin opened and the contents going stale; bits of food everywhere; a box of Special K (DL's preferred breakfast/snack of choice - without milk because she's a vegan, isn't she) on the table that had suffered a messy forced entry; beach towel wedged in the window by the sink(they'd been midnight swimming) and a pile of sand over the washing up; a pair of underpants in the toilet and to cap it all, the fridge door had been left open all night meaning I had to spend half an hour with a knife scraping the ice off the cool box before I could shut the sodding thing and go and calm down at the café. Although it was pretty obvious who the main culprit was, S and I decided to be fair and mention to both of them that it was a state of affairs that was not conducive to a harmonious environment and that they'd better buck their ideas up. Maybe me marching in unannounced and switching the CD player off in front of DL created the wrong atmosphere but we had a laugh about it and left the girls to their own devices while we went off to the New Forest and then to Swanage for something to eat (OK, I know but I've never been there and it's actually very nice).

We got home to find LM on the sofa having an argument over the phone with DL who'd pissed her about. To cut a long and rather bizarre story short, DL came back and said she was leaving to go back to Anglesey. It was 10pm and the next train out in the right direction was 6am. She also said she'd been on to her dad to get the police to take her to the station. Right, you can actually phone the police taxi service up, they're quite happy to do it and it's all free. They're also quite used to leaving 17 year old girls alone on a station in the middle of the night for seven hours. She left, sans police escort, about an hour later after muttering something about feeling uncomfortable. She refused a lift. There's more that is extremely boring involving calls from her parents and unaccountable rudeness from her father and a severe bollocking for her from me when I caught up with her after she'd gone. I will not be played for a fool by a cocky 17 year-old who needs a lesson in growing up and she picked the wrong person to attempt to bluff. The irony is, she's a fairly successful rock promoter in her spare time but can't handle the practicalities of life. She got a lesson in them and it may have been harsh but hell, I knew my holiday was in danger of being ruined by her selfishness so she was going to pay for it. Ever known you were going to have to be in a confined space with two angry and upset women for a week? Someone was going to pay and as she caused it...

At least the weather kept decent - it only rained at night and all the way home. Marianne - thanks for the tip about Abbotsbury. We went and it was beautiful. In return, I'd suggest the tearooms at Upwey and then a stroll around their magnificent water garden. Pictures when we get organised.

13 Vegetable peelings:

Blogger Aunty Marianne said...

Glad you enjoyed the swans. We like them too.

9:10 am  
Blogger Geoff said...

They say that a change is as good as a rest.

Welcome back, Richard.

1:40 pm  
Blogger Who is this Dave? said...

'This may ot even work'.

It didn't.

Welcome back. I think the gloves are yours next week, but that may depend on what sort of present you brought back from holiday.

3:30 pm  
Blogger krusty the baker said...

Sounds like things could have been better, but I hope you enjoy the cider. It, er, reads as though it is having the desired effect...

It's nice to come home to an audience, isn't it!

4:38 pm  
Blogger Tennessee Jed said...

A vacation (holiday as you Britts call it) can be more stressful than just staying on the job.

Welcome back!

8:45 pm  
Blogger Vicus Scurra said...

You went to Weymouth.
Scaryduck lives in Weymouth.
While you where there, he wasn't.
What does this mean?

10:56 pm  
Blogger Vicus Scurra said...

You went to Weymouth.
Scaryduck lives in Weymouth.
While you where there, he wasn't.
What does this mean?

10:56 pm  
Blogger Vicus Scurra said...

Just in case you didn't get it the first time.
This is the fault of the new release of blogger software that tells me I don't exist, but publishes the comment anyway. So sorry. I hope this did not happen to you in Weymouth.

10:59 pm  
Blogger Richard Seamon said...

Worrying turn of events was that. He knew I was going, too.

I think this is the same software that allows Sharon to read but not post and comment. Bugger, isn't it.

11:17 pm  
Blogger Pamela said...

Richard, what a horrible thing to have happen on your holiday.

I tell my husband that you can't call it a vacation if there are children involved.

3:38 am  
Blogger Sharon J said...

Daft Laura is Welsh. Interestingly, the English have an average IQ of 100.5 while the Welsh have 97. Maybe we shouldn't blame her for being daft.

12:06 pm  
Blogger Richard Seamon said...

In the interests of balance, there are obviously many Welsh people with a much greater intellectual capacity than the average IQ would suggest. Don't upset them too much, the Araf road markings are only 15 minutes away, isn't it.

12:14 pm  
Blogger Cherry Rolfe said...

Happy days! I think there is so much to be said for the traditional British holiday - and you said it all - Thanks for the warning!!

7:58 pm  

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