Unexcited, heads North...

It is early, the sun is in the process of rising, and the feline contingent of the house are stalking about my feet verily Yowling to be outdoors, unfortunately such delights are denied of them, for shortly, well in ooh about 4 hours, I, the offspring, the discogoth and one of her brood depart these walls for the heady delights of Flamingo land.

Yes reader, I am away, on a Holiday.

At this moment in time, I aren't sure what has possessed me, what in the name of all I hold holy was I thinking, ah yes that was it 'the children will enjoy it'

let us examine for a moment the finer points...

it is a Theme Park and Zoo I like neither....there is a Monorail over some of the Animals, this I suspect is a recipe for disaster - what pray tell does one do, if it breaks over a pit of bored, caged angry.. and potentially HUNGRY Lions, Tigers or Bears (oh my..) madness, though probably saves on the animal feed bill.

However, its NEAR Whitby, so that'll be me happy for a few hours at some point.

Holidays that 'the children will enjoy' are as close to torture as any adult need venture, it is I suspect a masochistic streak within parents, wishing perhaps to punish themselves further for having the temerity to issue forth an extension of the gene pool. Things can only be made worse by going to resorts situated traditionally along the coast, where 'entertainment' and indeed 'fun' are top of the bill and enforced on people foolhardy to pay for such a privilege. I speak from experience here, Butlins, is I suspect the last vestige of the third Reich, though as you might expect.. we opted for self catering, and as such casual observers of the horror... men and women in red coats, barking 'Hello Can I help you?' - terrifying.. no actually it was worse then that, at the set meal times, you'd see the prisoners of fun, glassy eyed, wandering trance like towards the food halls, bandy legged and forlorn looking, their very being haunted by the fact they will be near hypnotised into later, attending a 'show' which may or may not feature the creator of his own time 'Chico'...

But... the children enjoy it...


None of this nonsense held sway with my parents, they I presume didn't give a shit if we enjoyed our summers or not, and essentially put us out to pasture in the back yard, one year aged about 2 I lived for several weeks as a hobo in a cardboard box ( it was BRILLIANT, granted I slept indoors, but I really don't know why the homeless complain so much) other years, we cycled about various villages, like a modern day von trapp family (only my mother looked very little like Julie Andrews,and there were remarkably few Nazi's looking for plague graves in the Wolds, nor was our apparel constructed entirely of curtains, though we did indulge in questionable singing)

I of course do them a disservice,we did have fun, and they made sure of that in their own way, picnics, and walks, simple fun, 'appen we were poor, it was grim up north afterall... though we did have at least 2 holidays when I was very small..

Ingoldmells, the Miners Welfare camp -no one in my family is a miner, never have been, we were healthy lunged interlopers.. there under false pretences.. actually, no, we were invited by my Grandfather, who with his MGM trio performed of an evening - entertaining the emphesymic. These holidays have become the stuff of legend in my memory... I recall recoiling in horror when a grown man called me a silly sausage... my Mother very kindly explained to me that it might mean poo, I was aghast, and precocious to tee, will have chastised him.

The accommodation was perhaps then, the highlight... a humble performers perk, you see... the 2 berth caravan... quite how it worked I aren't sure, but it contained 4 adults, 2 children and three dogs, a rambunctious springer spaniel, a whippet and a bloody huge Alsatian, cosy is an apt description... back in the early 1980's concerns about paedophilia were brushed under the carpet.. and we children were strip washed in a large bucket outside the caravan (this I suspect has led to a lack of inhibition on my part in adult life, and the sheer inability to care where I pee).

As the camp was enclosed, the door of the caravan was mainly open, and the dogs loosed about us....

The Alsatian, kato was a beast of an animal, huge, hairy and rather prone to startling people by standing very very close to them and frowning.. this was largely due to myopia on the dogs part, but gave her a ferocious air... in spite of the fact that at least once that holiday I attempted to ride her like a horse... it didn't work, dogs are not compliant in such circumstances...

To further create the illusion of thuggery kato would cock her leg to pee, there is a chance she may in fact have been a he, I cannot remember, and have no one I can ask to confirm this.. One
morning, whilst out on a jaunt about the campsite, kato was as dogs are prone to be, possessed by the urgent need to evacuate her bladder... she chose a tent as the ideal receiver of her micturate... unfortunately it was occupied, and said camper was less then happy.. I was recently washed and dressed for the day when an irate man, charged up to the caravan,

"is THIS your dog" he demanded, My grandfather confirmed indeed he was owner of said Alsatian...

"Well its PISSED all over my tent, and YOU are going to have to clean it"

Something of a heated debate ensued, My Grandfather maintaining the upper hand, calm and polite, affronted by the behaviour of, and language used by this man in front of children...threats about reporting us ALL to the camp owner were rather futile, we were in a privileged position after all, ultimately he took the bucket of water - in which we had so recently been washed, accompanied the gentleman to his tent, and rather then actually cleaning the tent, threw the soapy water over it, turned on his heel and went back about his business...

I don't recall encountering the camper again, I recall being too young to run amok with the other children nearby, and spending a deal of time hung out of the caravan door watching them, I recall equally a playground, where the children of a miner openly mocked me for knowing how iced lollies were made, and indeed my sisters Monty Python t-shirt (this later became my PE kit at primary school)...

That, that was our final trip to the Miners welfare, had I suspect very little to do with the dogs behaviour, and was more connected to my grandfathers failing health, his last summer spent entertaining the emphesymic.. before himself succumbing to cancer.

At least a decade, I suspect more, passed before we went on a 'proper' holiday, abroad no less... well to France, by which time I had an appreciation of cheese, and developed an appreciation of wine... I lost all appreciation of sloped low ceilings on the first morning there, when, in that most stupid period of your life(immediately after waking..) I sat up... it hurt.


Anyway, the others are getting impatient, apparently its not the done thing to lord around in your dressing gown, blogging when there are excited offspring in the vicinity....

I must away...