Isle of Wight – the crossing

July 24th 2017

My knuckles were white as I grasped the hand rail above my head; Carolyn’s navigations skills were not great. I feared for my life and sucked hard on my mint. In my Mumma role of DJ today we were listening to Katy Perry singing ROAR, we were waved onto the boat by a balding, overweight man in a hi viz vest and a walkie talkie. The girls were singing loudly in the back, I gave Carolyn instructions from the front, “FFS move over to the left” “We are all going to die”. A man banged on the side of the window and asked us to stop. Carolyn doesn’t do subtle stopping, we all lurched forward as she braked. My mint hit my tonsils, the girls sobbed and I coughed so loudly I lady dribbled just a bit. Silence again as we stared at the man in the vest until he waved us up onto the ramp.
Slowly we crawled up and then up again until we were snuggly parked behind a Skoda carrying two touring bikes on the back.  I immediately recognised the florid faced lady with the tight grey perm and her partner – she still had cheese on her lips.  I smirked and announced to the family we are free to leave the car.  And we did just that.

The ferry was full. Summer holidays had kicked in. This was very different to our usual crossings to the IOW. It felt strange. I felt like a stranger in my own ferry. I felt most queer.  We grabbed a child each and made our way through lorries and cars and then up the 2 flights of stairs.  We needed caffeine.

The stairs were oozing with children whose mission it was to leg it it to the best seat with a sea window. I was in no mood to race, instead I walked very slowly and carefully much to the annoyance of the feral family behind me. They overtook us on level 3 and sprinted to the lounge.  I turned to eyeball their mother; she was covered in tattoos, with a rather large premier drum set on her right arm. Under neath the name of a man, Reg, followed by what I assume where the children’s names. She was clearly the Mia Farrow of Mothers, I counted two black, one white and one undecided. Little Beyoncé must have been 11, she was chubby, with long hair, a very tight track suit, and a pair of florescent trainers, she was holding the hand of Nate who was (I assume) her brother. She was dragging him along the carpet. Her Mother was holding a baby in her arms and holding the hand of Jezzer.  He must have been 4. As they sped past us towards their table she screamed, Beeeyooooooonceeeeee grab that table, thas a good girl. I could smell the chewing gum and see her fillings as her mouth spat out instructions to her children.  I felt a little queasy for a second.

The ferry started to move as we found our table.  Thank Fuck I whispered as I sat down. I pulled out another mint and sucked aggressively.  Carolyn was talking to the girls as I switched on my kindle. Relax time I thought. I thought ruddy wrong!

I was asked to purchase hot chocolate for the girls and coffees for us. I hissed, sucked and sulked as I headed to the long Costa queue ahead.

The queue was long, there was only two people serving, they were both in a coma and the man in front of me had terrible BO. I turned quickly to face the croissants and breathed in the bready aroma. Eventually it was my turn, I ordered my drinks, waited patiently while they were made. And hurried back to my seat.

Like gannets the girls grabbed their drinks before I had sat down. I imagined a different life, just for a moment, where I would most probably be enjoying an early café cognac, reading my book and looking forward to a week of fine dining. And then I was back, Vivien needed a crap, so off I went to find a toilet.

I took a well-earned slurp of my black Americano, the first in many months since my detox, and then the man on the tannoy announced would all car owners make their way to their cars immediately, this is the last call. 

I crunched my mint, grabbed my stuff, swore at everybody, binned my coffee and headed down to the car.

We’d ruddy arrived!

Center Parcs – Tarzan, Piss and Tattooed Grannies

I slept soundly and felt very refreshed. Carolyn had not. Nor had the kids. Today we were going swimming. I dug out my old costume and put my panties over my costume so as not to forget them. Carolyn was still feeling quite ill. The girls were arguing over some crappy Peppa Pig toy and I just wanted to get the fuck out of here. I herded the girls outside and mounted the rickshaw. I fell off. I remounted and off we went. Carolyn rode her own mountain bike. I was a little jealous as I looked and felt a prize prat wobbling through the forest with my ginger ninjas screaming Giddy Up from the back. I ignored the smiles from passing parents and instead picked up pace and headed to the Dome of Stench!

It was busy, kids all over the place, frantic mothers rushing around looking for changing rooms. Fathers wishing they were anywhere but here. Wet floors, humid, chlorine smelling with a hint of cheap perfume. We entered the changing rooms and found somewhere to get changed. We could barely move, we had packed enough bags for a trip around Europe! Our ‘family changing room’ was a hot little shit hole in a cluster of shit holes within a dome full of shits. I so wanted to get the hell out. The girls were crying. Carolyn wanted to puke, and I was having a hot flush. I removed my outer layer and announced I was ready. I walked with my head held high, holding in my stomach, clutching the girls, as we made our way towards the pool. We walked passed a mirror and it was then I realised I was still wearing my panties over my costume! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

I held in my tummy and waded into the pool of piss. Children were splashing around me, I pushed passed them to try and get to the deep end. There was no deep end. I swam around the mayhem when an almighty loud Tarzan call came over the loudspeakers. I swallowed a mouthful of warm water as suddenly the pool was full of ferocious waves. I was hit by a tidal wave so strong it pushed me into the shallower end. I wiped away the snot and pulled my costume out of my bottom and swam towards a small cave. Some stairs took me to a hidden hot tub outside. I swam out of the tub and followed an elderly granny into the outside pool, the current suddenly grabbed my ankles and before I could cry ruddy flipping hell I was being dragged down the white water rapids that circle the plaza. I screamed as I was plunged into waters so violent I thought I would drown. Just as I thought it could not get any worse I was thrust down a 20 foot slide and landed with my legs wrapped around the head of the poor granny I had seen earlier. Dear God in Heaven. I apologised profusely. She struggled to get out, I watched and noticed the rose tattoo on her arm. Mmmmmmm I felt no remorse at all after seeing that. Granny’s should not have tattoos! No ruddy way!