Italian holiday – Part 1
I’m sat here writing this
There is a smell of calm and the sensation of relief in me. But why am I here and what the dickens am I playing at? Well read on, do!
It was four in the morning, Cecil let out a scream, his scream went from his mouth, through the air and into my sleeping ear, filled with terror and urine, I jumped up out of bed, hitting Cecil square in the face with my face, it was like a very violent kiss, if you kiss by smacking your father with your eye socket.
He had woken me up in the worst way possible, the startle method. His nose, now bloody and throbbing, bore the brunt of his stupid maneuver, as did my eye. He ran off crying, and I went back to sleep, I didn’t know what he had done it for. At a quarter to five, my mum came in my bedroom, smacked me on the legs and shouted at me to get up. An impromptu holiday was to be undertaken, because it’s my parent’s 50th anniversary of something, not their wedding, something else they won’t tell me. So were going on a mystery holiday. Luckily Dad had packed my clothes for me, I just had to grab my laptop and camcorder, phone and digital camera, tooth equipment and by five am we were in a taxi. By 5:05 am we were at a bus stop in the middle of town, there were a dozen old people also waiting with cases, there was also a constant steady stream of en drunken revelers from the previous Saturday night, staggering this way and that. Our bus stop got continually questioned with “Where’s you’s going?” and “Why are you people?” The old biddies shouted back answers such as “Wetwang” and “who’s a boozy boy”.
By 5:30 an Esk valley bus came and picked us all up, I assumed we were going to stay somewhere in northern Yorkshire. I was wrong, this was something called a ‘feeder’ coach, though we were never fed any food! After hours we ended up at Woodmansey or Woolsey or somewhere, I don’t know where exactly, I was very tired. We got moved onto a coach, by national holiday, Dad blindfolded me so I couldn’t see where it was going. This was a massive waste of time and huge inconvenience because as soon as the drivers got on the coach they said “Welcome to national holidays trip to Lake Garda” somewhere we have been before, but I fear that blog was lost when MySpace decided to delete all my previous blogs.
The day then consisted of nothing but sitting on a coach and stopping at service stations and then going on a ferry from Dover to France, nothing happened on there, compared to our overnight ferry trip to Europort last year, this was a daddle/doddle.
Nothing of note happened in France as we made our way to our overnight stay in a hotel in Metz, save that at one service station me and Mum took a walk down a path behind the services and then a small angry French woman came and shouted at us in French, mum said ‘I do not speak French’ but in French, which seems quite ironic to me, so the angry French woman shouted “FORBIDDEN!” twice as we started walking away.
We got to our overnight hotel and slept like logs, which means going to sleep very quickly and quite well.
We got up at quarter past 5, had the most delicious breakfast or meats, cheese and proper French bread, which both Mum and Dad couldn’t chew because of their pathetic fake teeth. I had a whole baton of bread with 6 butter cubes and god knows how much meat and cheese slices.
Then we spent 12 or so hours, on a coach, with stops at service stations. Nothing happened apart from I got angry as the old woman opposite me on the coach who never ever wears her seatbelt.
Oh, once when we were all getting back on the bus after a comfort stop (which wasn’t particularly comforting due to the high level of stench coming from the toilet area). We got back on the coach and while I was stood in the walkway of the bus, I was taking my jacket off to put it in the overhead compartment when a tiny angry old biddy woman walked up to me, said excuse me in a rude manor and pushed my shoulder so hard I had to move out of her way, the grumpy old cow sack, I wanted to punch her in her neck flaps.
We got to Lake Garda at about 6 o clock, Mum and Dad rushed off the bus to get the key to the room, while I was stuck on the coach letting old people go passed me, I couldn’t hold a trump in any longer and it just slipped out, there was a very definite stench, two days’ worth of poo was waiting in there and its gas was desperate to come out, and come out it did. The queue on the bus came to a stop right next to my seat as some old codger was struggling with the stairs, the smell built up and I could see people had defiantly smelt it. I thought about saying “Yep that was me, and if you don’t want more, let me off now, I’ve not pooed in 2 days” but I didn’t I just looked at my shoes and fat ankles.
Eventually we all got off the bus and made it into the room, see picture, Cecil was just sat on the double bed weeping with how beautiful the view was/is. He claimed to be incredibly happy.
After I and mum had pooed (one after the other, not at the same time) we went down stairs and got shown to our table. There was an old couple there already, as is customary, they were/are from New Castle or Teenside or something, I don’t know, it’s all the same. The food was semi self-service, well, the salad was self-service, so I had a nice salad of some bread roll and butter with lots of salt. Then we all had what looked like cheese and ham pasta, but it wasn’t, it was pasta with salmon and a liquid, I did not like it, far too fishy tasting. Mum and dad did not like it. we’ve come back to the room to eat the expensive crisps we got in Switzerland.
I’m eating some now, sat on the balcony and writing this, there are lots of English people sat downstairs, drinking. They are loud!