...and so the day would arrive when it was time to go home. By now there would have been so much rain that a local farmer would be called upon to tow us off the site and we would bid farewell to 'Le Camping Merde de Cochon' with mixed feelings (of joy and ecstasy). Armed with nothing but a personal stereo, some new batteries and a 'Best of Meatloaf' cassette I would settle back and resign myself to the journey ahead. This would invariably include a breakdown somewhere near Limoges(the car, not the passengers amazingly) giving me even longer to reflect on all the new phrases I had learnt over the fortnight such as...
'Merde alors, tu pues!' (Bloody Hell, you stink)
'Tu n'as pas entendu parler de savon?' (Haven't you heard of soap?) and my personal favourite
'Le mec anglais sur l'emplacement numéro 38 est complètement fou' The English bloke on pitch 38 is completely mad.
(Please forgive the errors - bit rusty - de savon or du savon?)
We would eventually arrive back in England to find that they had been experiencing the hottest, weather for decades whilst we'd been away, and that the whole country was walking around looking tanned and gorgeous. Still, at least we were back and it was all over for another year. I could have a shower, sleep alone again and set about tracing my real parents.
Showing posts with label caravan site. Show all posts
Showing posts with label caravan site. Show all posts
Friday, 26 July 2013
Wednesday, 24 July 2013
Family Holidays Part Four: Warning, Contains Scenes of Adult Nudity
So, as we all huddled in the caravan with the rain lashing down outside, tensions were running high. Poor weather and three teenagers with no TV or gadgets to amuse them is not a good recipe for a perfect holiday; in fact you have all the ingredients for total family breakdown and years of messy legal wrangling.
Such was the pressure that my dad decided now would be a good time to do some yoga. Picture the scene. A smallish caravan, three disgruntled adolescents playing their 97th round of pontoon and a 50+ man doing yoga, NAKED, in the very tight confines of caravan floor. 'Why naked?', you may ask. Well don't. Just one of my dad's little idiosyncracies, a penchant for letting it all hang loose. We were all used to it but others, such as the cleaner and my Japanese student friend, were not. I'm amazed that my dad has reached his mid 70s with not so much as a restraining order to his name.
Anyway, the yoga was over, so my dad got up to put the kettle on when he spotted a French man outside walking back from emptying the toilet. My dad is a friendly sort of chap so he stood at the door, gave a cheery wave and shouted "Bonjour, Monsieur". "Merde alors!",came the reply, as the poor man scurried back to the safety of his own van. You may be fortunate enough not to be familiar with the intimate workings of caravan doors, but many of them are those 'stable door' designs where you can have the top part open and the bottom section closed. My dad claims to this day that he thought the lower part was shut but, needless to say, 'Monsieur le campeur' got a full frontal he wasn't expecting.
I don't know if it was the poor weather or whether word got round about the flasher in the van on pitch 38 but we soon had the site pretty much to ourselves.
Such was the pressure that my dad decided now would be a good time to do some yoga. Picture the scene. A smallish caravan, three disgruntled adolescents playing their 97th round of pontoon and a 50+ man doing yoga, NAKED, in the very tight confines of caravan floor. 'Why naked?', you may ask. Well don't. Just one of my dad's little idiosyncracies, a penchant for letting it all hang loose. We were all used to it but others, such as the cleaner and my Japanese student friend, were not. I'm amazed that my dad has reached his mid 70s with not so much as a restraining order to his name.
Anyway, the yoga was over, so my dad got up to put the kettle on when he spotted a French man outside walking back from emptying the toilet. My dad is a friendly sort of chap so he stood at the door, gave a cheery wave and shouted "Bonjour, Monsieur". "Merde alors!",came the reply, as the poor man scurried back to the safety of his own van. You may be fortunate enough not to be familiar with the intimate workings of caravan doors, but many of them are those 'stable door' designs where you can have the top part open and the bottom section closed. My dad claims to this day that he thought the lower part was shut but, needless to say, 'Monsieur le campeur' got a full frontal he wasn't expecting.
I don't know if it was the poor weather or whether word got round about the flasher in the van on pitch 38 but we soon had the site pretty much to ourselves.
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