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This is a question Family Holidays

Back in the 80s when my Dad got made redundant (hello Dad!), he spent all the redundancy money on one of those big motor caravans.

Us kids loved it, apart from when my sister threw up on my sleeping bag, but looking back I'm not so sure my mum did. There was a certain tension every time the big van was even mentioned, let alone driven around France for weeks on end with her still having to cook and do all the washing.

What went wrong, what went right, and how did you survive the shame of having your family with you as a teenager?

(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:33)
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I went to Turkey. It was hell.
Firstly, my sister kicked up a fuss about not wanting to go, the obligatory 'I'm staying here and there's nothing you can do to stop me' rant, at which point my dad picked her up and locked us all in the car.

We couldn't park at the Airport because my dad's a weirdo and thought the car would get stolen (who'd steal a ten year old volvo?), so we went to this random woman's house and got her to drive us.

The journey was very turbulent, and no-one got much sleep. It was far too hot when we arrived, and it got worse from there.

We were sharing the holiday with some random Welsh family my dad knows, and the little girl (she was about 8, so was my stepsister), Harriet, fancied me. So did my stepsister. I was 12 at the time and it was very very scary. It still is. (My stepsister's always after me. She's a fucking retard). I had to put up with this for two weeks, along with the weather and the evil stepmother nagging in my ear all the time about crap.

We nippers were forced to participate in a sketch showcase, showing every wednesday, which was shit too. We did stupid things like read newspapers with our legs crossed, and listen to music eating crisps. What the fuck?

We went on a cruise which wasn't bad, I god realy badly sunburned and jumping into the sea at every stop to soothe the pain helped. Well, after it stopped stinging like fuck.

At one point during the two weeks, I was conned out of £60, and I was also persuaded to have a Nike tick shaved into my head (Apparently, it costs a tenner to get beaten up by schoolchildren these days, what the fuck was I thinking!?).

By the end of the holiday, I had thrown up several times, and I had the runs. This was due to the crisps I was eating on stage, combined with the 40 degrees heat every day. Even spending most of my time in the pool eating lemon ice cream didn't help.

On the plane back, I had several packets of those crisps and thought 'Meh, I'm ill anyway, I might as weel scoff the lot'. Bad idea, as it was, again, turbulent.

No sleep, lots of toilet trips.


Length? Two weeks.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 18:36, Reply)

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