Two out of three aint bad?

I’ve never been good with vomit or shit, or bogies come to think of it. It seems whatever protrudes from any orifice of one or both my children makes me retch.

Last week I helped with bath time whilst Carolyn popped out. As I lay on my bed urging both children (4 yr old twins) to sing loudly and frequently so I was confident neither had drowned, I sat bolt upright when Ruby stopped singing Let it Go and shrieked in horror. My toe nail clippers flew as I jumped off the bed and landed on my knees in a sea of reptilian toe nails. I could hear Vivien whimpering softly.

I flung myself into the bathroom to see Ruby standing in the bath, tears streaming down her face, pointing her little finger towards Vivien. Vivien sat in the bath looking at Ruby. In the water around her were various plastic toys and mermaids, Peppa Pig boats, balls, bubbles, and a dirty brown turd.

I was in shock and jolted back with my cupped hand upon my mouth. The dirty brown turd was floating alongside Grandpa Pig’s boat, but bits were breaking off and heading towards Ruby, who was shaking and pointing.

I tried to calm her down as best I could, I  hummed Jerusalem loudly and with meaning, I sang Its all about the Base, but to no avail. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat crept in to watch the commotion.  I threw a small box of panty pads at her and she darted out.  I grabbed Ruby by the shoulders and pulled her out. She was slippery and wet, I suddenly thought of an old Whitesnake song I used to love, but this was not the time.

Vivien was trying to push the turd away from her, but the waves from Ruby being pulled up directed the turd back to Vivien. I ran out of the bathroom with ruby under my armpits wrapped in a towel. She still had soap in her hair and dirt on her arms and face. I threw her onto the bed and sprinted back to the bathroom and stood still for a second as I surveyed the picture before me. Vivien sat surrounded by bath toys, a big brown turd, and a scattering of smaller turdettes that had broken away from the mother ship and were heading in Viv’s direction.

I jumped to the left, and then jumped to the right. I looked back and forth. I retched. A turdette had now touched Vivien. She screamed. I screamed. The cat meowed loudly from outside the bathroom.

I pulled out the plug, picked up Vivien and placed her on the carpet. I quickly grabbed a nappy bag and fished out the turd and large turdettes that had attached themselves to the dissolving mermaid, which had not fully dissolved, as it’s a cheap fucking toy from Tesco’s! I turned the nappy bag inside out and the turd fell into the toilet.

Vivien stood soaking in the bathroom as the water slowly disappeared down the plug hole. Small primary coloured plastic toys lay scattered on the bath, some housing small turdettes, others just covered in bubbles. I hosed down all the toys, put them in a plastic bag and binned the lot. I then cleaned the bath.

Viv I noticed had turned blue; she was freezing to death and shaking violently. I put her back in the bath and hosed her down as well. I then washed my own hands, twice, and swallowed the bit of sick that had risen to the back of my mouth.

As I lay on the bed, sniffing my fingers to make sure there was no turd lingering. Viv and Ru lay silently beside me, clean, dry, watching some weird blind girl called Melody and drinking their milk. I could see from the very corners of my eye that Ruby had her finger up her nose. In slow motion, I turned to face her just as she pulled out something so large it wrapped itself around her finger and stayed there. She pointed the finger to me and said, Mama, can you wipe this away please.

Carolyn walked in as I ran out with my cupped hand over my mouth, swallowing quickly and trying not to retch too loudly in her face.

I guzzled greedily from a bottle of Bordeaux that I had kept for cooking. I cared not.

A night of Pooh, bogies and very nearly some vomit!

Some say 2 out of 3 isn’t bad.

I say 2 out of 3 is a fucking disaster.

Last day in France

 One more day to go I thought as I walked downstairs into the kitchen. I heard Jolyon coughing and wheezing outside, a cigarette in one hand and his ventilator in another. He announced he was not very well, that he felt ‘broken’ and needed to walk it off around the lakes. He grabbed his cigarettes and ventilator and proceeded to march through the village like Captain Mannering on a mission. I was also feeling pretty horrid and after a strong coffee and some croissant I lay down on Mum’s bed to rest. Because of her broken leg & ankle (another story) she had made up a small bed downstairs. Her kindly neighbours also gave her a pulley to lift herself in and out of bed and a Zimmer frame!! Her sitting room and dining room resembled a hospital ward.

An hour or so into my rest I heard Jolyon march into the kitchen announcing he was feeling much better and could he now order scrambled eggs on toast and coffee. Clearly he had forgotten Mum was practically crippled, and I made it known to him by screaming from my sick bed what a lazy git he was and he should cook it himself!! I then fell back to sleep until I was rudely awoken by the girls who decided it was rather fun to stick their little fingers up my nose. At this point I realised I would never get any rest and got up. Somebody had to ring Avis to arrange for a taxi to collect us and take us back to Bordeaux airport tomorrow. The number on the Avis contract was dead and I had to call their Paris office. After 20 minutes of holding and listening to various recorded messages I was beginning to get very annoyed. At last I was put through to Shona who assured me a taxi would arrive at our house at 08.30am, it would be big enough for 3 adults and 2 children, and also have child seats.

Our flight was 6pm, but we just wanted to get to the airport and Avis were not willing to send a taxi any later in the day. Relieved that we were all sorted Carolyn and me took the girls for a walk around the one small supermarket in the village – Maxi! It was closed. So we walked back to Mum’s and watched Dickinsons Deal with Jolyon.

That evening we all decided to hit the hay early in order to be ready for the taxi. It had been a nice day, at least Carolyn and the twins were feeling better. As I closed the shutters I could hear Jolyon coughing and wheezing below. He was sitting in his little plastic chair outside the kitchen having his final fag and snifter. Mum’s pulley was slowly placing her head on her pillow and the girls were grunting like a couple of piglets. One more sleep to go and then off home.

Bunting, Piss and the moustached French Lady

Monday 6th August – Bunting, Piss and the moustached French lady

I walked into a nightmare!

The shutter was half open and I had to crawl into the apartment. As I slowly straightened myself I was first hit by the smell. The appalling odour pervading the room reminded me of the shit hole they call a toilet at Jesse’s bar. I gagged for a second and then I saw it, the BUNTING, Euros and Sterling notes hanging from every corner of the apartment. Soggy urine drenched notes which Jolyon was drying off. Why Jolyon had decided to bring over £800 pounds for a 3 day trip I will never know. But right now, it was all hanging around me like Christmas Day.

Jolyon was still in his pit he called a bed. I had to rush to the toilet as my stomach was about to explode. When I returned he was beginning to wake. For a brief second I felt relief knowing he was alive. Then utter disgust! I stood staring at him as his eyes slowly opened. He smacked his lips and surveyed the room. He had woken when I had left to go wine tasting and removed the urine sodden notes from his wallet and hung them around the apartment. He had then resumed his sleep. I kicked him and he sat up. He could not remember anything about last night. He refused to believe he had pissed in the shower but was thoroughly delighted to hear he had beaten Fred the alcoholic in the drinking competition. Unfortunately he also had a rather sicky stomach and before I could say anymore he rushed past me and slammed the toilet door. I heard him groan and then flick the pages of his Classic Car magazine. 15 minutes later he came out grumbling there was no toilet paper and something about a gravy pot. I shuddered and carried my wine into my room.

I lay on the bed and noticed a couple of soggy stinking Euros hanging from my window. I jumped up and pulled them down. I threw them at Jolyon and then washed my hands. I washed them again. And one more time to be safe. I walked into the sitting room and sprayed it with Joe Malone. Two flies fell to the floor. I grabbed my iPad, my mints and told Jolyon we should go pay the bar bill. He said he felt sick but would meet me at the bar after he had showered.

I walked slowly up the road to the bar. I felt rotten. Fred the alcoholic had still not surfaced. Loola the gypsy was at the bar reading a paper and the cough mixture lady was arguing with a small fat woman who had a moustache and dressed like a man. She was smoking Gitanes and the smell made me faint. I moved to a table at the end of the bar and ordered a diet coke. Coco came over and said something. I nodded my head and grinned. I sipped my drink and noticed the man-woman smoking the Gitanes staring at me. I looked up and she gave me a wide grin. Her teeth were black and jagged and I saw bits of food festering in the gaps. I turned away.  I like a lady, but she was something else!!

In Cransac everybody kisses you three times. I did not want this woman coming anywhere near me. The third kiss was the worst. I felt her bristles. She had hairy nostrils and her blue overalls were covered in car oil. She moved back to her table and lit up another Gitanes. I opened up my ipad and felt violated.

I saw his head first, looking out of the shutters like a monkey surveying the land before coming out. He crawled out, closed the shutter and marched towards the bar. I looked at him and was suddenly taken back 30 years to when he was a little boy practising to be a magician. With his top hat, his plastic chicken and wand, he used to run thru the house naked, pouncing on guests like Cato. I hummed the Dad’s Army tune to myself as he approached and could see he was not feeling good.

I suggested we eat something. We both felt sick and had runny bottoms. Jolyon seemed a little pale in colour. He ordered a glass of wine and his colour returned. I also ordered a glass of wine and nearly puked. Only one sleep to go and then home.

Wine Tasting and Hangovers

Monday 6th August – Wine Tasting & Hangovers

I sat at the bar and swallowed two Nurofen. I felt shocking. My head hurt and my stomach was making strange noises. Jesse & Coco were in the kitchen prepping for lunch, the smell made me queasy. The cough mixture lady was sitting at the bar. Her top was tucked into her leggings and she kept sticking her tongue through the gap in her teeth. I watched her arm fat flapping as she tried to swat a fly. I ordered another coffee and people watched. They were all quite odd. Possibly interbred. I bit into the biscuit and for some reason sucked in the air – the biscuit hit the back of my throat and I coughed so hard my eyes & front bottom watered. A strange looking man with a strawberry nose got me some water.

Our trip to date had been an utter disaster. Our intention was to come and see our Brother before his double transplant. Our plan was to spend some quality time with him, have a bit of family bonding. What actually happened is Jolyon got drunk and fell asleep in his dinner on day one, got drunk on day 2 and last night he got so drunk he pissed himself.

My head was throbbing. Jolyon had still not emerged from the apartment so I assumed he was not coming. My stomach was making funny rumbling noises and I prayed I wouldn’t get caught short. Jesse came out with Sergio who was driving us to the Chateaux above Marcillac for the wine tasting. I was not looking forward to this.

I sat in the back of his car swaying from left to right, trying hard not to vomit. The Black Crows were playing very loudly. He drove like a possessed man through the French countryside, occasionally mounting the verge. Jesse sat in the front rolling his cigarette and speaking French. I tried to converse, but as my only sentence in French was, “another large one please,” I kept quiet. At one point I thought I was going to puke and pass a poo at the same time. Wind was building up but I could not let it go in the car – I had to hold on until we reached the Chateaux. I was in pain.

We took a corner and drove up into the hills. The roads got thinner, I felt sicker, and Sergio drove faster. I prayed we would arrive shortly. I pulled an extra strong mint out of my bag and sucked violently. Right now, I wanted to be anywhere but in the back of this car. It was hot, with no aircon. My head hurt, I had wind, and possibly a runny bottom. This was the kind of recipe that ended in disaster. I wanted to go home.

At last the car slowed as we drove up a bumpy lane and into the grounds of the most exquisite Chateaux. As I surveyed the beauty and lusciousness around me I suddenly had the urge to puke. I leant out of the window and noticed a dead dog on the gravel. I shouted to Serge to stop the car. As we pulled to a sudden halt a ruddy faced man with long furry sideburns rushed out and picked up the dog and placed him in the barn. The dog was not dead. Just old and crusty. And so smelly I retched.

Michael Durand was the proprietor and chief wine maker. He owned the chateaux with his brother and between them made wonderful red wine that the supermarkets had just found out about. I asked for the WC and ran like the wind. As I threw my tanner lady into the bin I surveyed the room. Thankfully it was a toilet, but it was grubby and old fashioned. I walked out and thru an equally old fashioned kitchen. Michael Durand the proprietor was standing outside talking to Jesse and Serge. It was about 33 degrees.  My stomach was making strange noises again and the stinky dog has its nose in my front bottom. I joined the boys and tried to look interested as I carefully kneed the dog away. I had no idea what they were talking about so I laughed when everybody else laughed and this made him talk directly to me.

40 minutes later the wine tasting starts.  We move to a barn and down some stairs. And then we all turn around and walk back up the stairs. I am given a grubby plastic cup. I am poured a thimble full of wine and take a sip. Fucking horrible!! I looked at the boys around me as they swirled it around their mouth and then swallowed. They were all nodding their heads and clearly enjoying it. I could barely swallow the stuff. We were then given another thimble full of wine. This was lovely. I smiled at Mr Blusher and he started talking to me again. I suppressed a yawn and looked at Jesse in despair. I pushed the dog out of my ass again and decided to walk towards the car. I whispered to Jesse I liked the second taster we had and would like to purchase half a dozen bottles. And could we hurry up. I felt sick. I wanted to go home. And that godforsaken dog was pissing me off.

Finally the deal was done and we left. We cruised into Cransac and jumped out at the bar. No sign of Jolyon yet. No sign of Fred the alcoholic.

The cough mixture woman was eating her lunch. It was a disgusting sight to see the food swirling around in her mouth and then flying out onto the table. I decided to head back to the apartment to see if Jolyon was still alive.