Only 2 sleeps to go

Industrial toe nail clippers are ready.  Veet hair removal cream stands staring at me, ready to attack the forest of doom and those little crevices that is home to the nest of curliness.  Misty my faithful yet crusty cat senses we are going away.  Her deep stench morning purr has been accompanied by a 360 degree turn unto which she places her ass on my torso and rubs.  I feel abused and brush her off roughly.  Carolyn snores rhythmically, deeply, and wetly.  – I have no witness.

On Tuesday she (Misty) vomits on my duvet, on my pillow and on the carpet.

On Wednesday the girls are over excited, each day they ask the same question. How many sleeps to go.  I tell them. They don’t fecking understand, so they ask again, and again.  For Fucks Sake – we go on ruddy Sunday.  Today it is ruddy Wednesday. Hold out your ruddy fingers and ruddy count.  (I say this coldly in my head).

On Thursday evening I discover the lice.  Crawling in their hair. The screams could be heard in Reading as I run the metal lice comb through their red locks trying to comb out the little feckers.  Glass in one hand, comb in the other, I ran the metal combs down every strand. Sweat pouring down my cheeks, Misty rubbing her ass along my ankles, and the girls sobbing.

At around 9pm I start to itch. Holy Fuck, I have an appointment with Marc Antoni hairdressers at 09.30am on Friday – surely not?

At 10pm I was pouring the left over lice shampoo into my hair. It stunk.  I cursed the metal comb and groaned as I pulled it through my thick hair, in the hope it would reveal dead lice.  It revealed hair, lots of it.  I combed and combed until my scalp hurt. Please God don’t let me have lice.

I turned in at 11pm. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat was already curled up next to Carolyn’s head. I purposely jumped in and slammed my head on my pillow – Misty flew up and meowed angrily. Carolyn grunted and then nothing.

I could feel a pointy finger on my head at 6am, followed by the sound of slurping and children’s television. Hurrah – my day has fecking started! My head hurt, my hair stunk, and my stomach felt odd. Misty trotted in and jumped on the bed, with a glint in her eye she jumped onto my shoulder and meow purred into my face. The smell of Gourmet Duck in Jelly hit my nostrils like a hammer and I retched as I pushed her away.

As I sat in Marc Antoni my stomach was not good.  It was one of those, do I need a number two or a good fart moment.  I did not risk either.  My head still hurt and my scalp itched.  Please Please don’t let ‘skinny Nikki with the dodgy eyebrows’ find lice. My head thumped, as did my bottom,.

The coffee sent my stomach into spasms and as I had a long wait for my colour I asked where the toilets were. They’ve had work done to the salon and I assumed they had new toilets built.  Alas not, it was the same small windowless toilet situated smack bang in the middle of the ruddy salon.

As we call it in our family, I POP POPPED for England. No window. No matchsticks. No air freshener. I jumped from leg to leg – what to do, how I can camouflage this most disgusting smell.  Somebody tried the door and I gasped. I did what I’ve not one since I was a kid in school – I began to waft the smell away – I looked like Kate Bush dancing to Wuthering ruddy Heights.  In desperation I covered my hands in liquid soap and then put on the hand dryer in the hope the dryer would waft the smell of soap around this small room.  I legged it. Head held down. Florid. To my seat and did not look up until I was done.

Job done. And no nits (to my knowledge).

So we leave on Sunday – our annual trip to sunny Spain where I sip my cool beer and swim in the pool of piss.  The POP as I call it is the children’s pool – where I have to stand idly and make small talk to Mothers  about their kids.   I hate the Pool of Piss, I have no time for  small talk, and I rarely like other children apart from those I know.  And to top it all, I hate having to see my own belly protruding over my antique bikini bottom.   But on the bright side, the POP is very close to the beach bar, when one can get a chilled beer.

Only 2 sleeps to go

Adios.

 

Leaving the garage – on route to Excideuil

Jolyon sems to be constantly arguing with the sat nav and we end up near Paris!  We had just spent 450 Euros on getting the car fixed and we were still going around in circles. Both babies were now wide awake. Carolyn felt sick and faint. Jolyon was screaming at the sat nav and insisted we turn it off and follow our nose. I needed a drink.

Due to Carolyn feeling faint and wanting to vomit. The children shitting and vomming in the back, and my car sickness, it was down to Jolyon to continue the long drive to Perigeaux and beyond. His dismay at this (as he could not stop at the various wineries and sample their goods) was thwarted by my offering of an extra strong mint.

We slowly wobbled (the car steering was fu*&ed) through SW France. Destination:Excideuil – Mothers 70th Birthday Bash.

Unfortunately Carolyn’s health deteriorated on route. The girls followed through and Jolyon became sick of my extra strong mints.

Were we ever to arrive in time for the party? Did that last sign really say Spain? Did Jolyon just cough?

Center Parcs

We decided to go on a family holiday. Horrah I thought as I rushed upstairs to wipe the dust of my Ambre Solaire oil and try in vain to squeeze into my kini (last worn in Corfu). I checked out where was hot and decided Canary Islands or Egypt. We would stay in a 5 star hotel and I would spend all day by the sea soaking up the sun while Carolyn would tend to the children. I had it all worked out. Sun HERE I RUDDY COME. And then my dream was shattered. Carolyn announced she had booked 4 days in Center Parcs in Longleat, with our 2 year old twins, Ruby & Vivien. We leave on Monday. Back on Friday. I gather we live in a shack in the woods under a dome with other ‘families’. And we cycle everywhere. God ruddy help me.

Follow my blog to find out exactly how our holiday went.