Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Mr William's LIfe is a Holiday?
Top Tuesday to you all!
Thought I would have a rant, sorry a word, about the typical Norn Irn (Northern Ireland to 'normal', wharever that is, english speakers) summer weather. I put this pic in, so that you wouldn't get too depressed, unlike the poor inhabitants of this most westerly corner of Europe.
The 'met' people say it is all to do with the Atlantic and jet streams etc, but I just think God looked at us and said, 'Well, if they want green fields, a reputation for being saints and scholars, they can mortify the flesh all they want, going up Slemish mountain in the rain!'
Well, surely there is a happy medium to be struck?( As my dad used to say, 'Doris Stokes is a happy medium, but she won't like it if you hit her!' Too obscure? Closing brackets now). In Norn Irn, we get 4 seasons every day, but the most obvious aspect of a typical day is that it widdles incessantly from the heavens!
So, what do we do? We moan about the weather and each other, we prettify our houses and go the seaside and pretend we enjoy it! That is, if we can't afford Magaluf or some other serene destination. Now with the credit scrunch, only the parents of that 7 year old painting prodigy will be able to go abroad! Well, with the return of staycations, I would like to share a few realities from my holiday memories.
My holidays of yore here were worse than being at war. The rain turned every holiday park into a freezing battlefield of mud and despair. It was like a harsh lesson for children that you can't have everything you want, or for that matter, have anything you want! It was the equivalent of National Service and it was a wonder that Social Services didn't intervene on the grounds of cruelty!
You think I exagerrate? Well, you had to be there. The sea was so cold that you had to dare each other to brave it and you came out blue, hoping someone was ready with the blowtorch and the resuscitation gear! My dad insisted on being jolly about it. He said stuff like' 'It'll harden you!' 'Yes, dad', I wanted to say, 'Rigor mortis hard!', but yours truly was neither brave enough, nor had my deathless wit fully developed!
The other abiding memory was the log cabin we went to. Let me tell you, it had no toilet, measured 10 feet by 10, had a gaz stove and candle light. I don't remember washing facilities. It seemed like a bundle of laughs at the time, but I was clearly not discriminating at that age.
Years later, my dad showed me endless, grainy photos of dozens of relatives standing in front of the cabin, smiling from ear to ear. Where they all kipped and why they were smiling is beyond me. The Dunkirk spirit? And no, I never found out where the loo was! I recall two things,clearly, the birds on the roof in the morning sounded to me like rats, so I named it 'Rat HQ' and secondly, we found money under the cushion of the sofa one day and we all went out and had a slap-up fish and chip supper. Great times! Ah, there, I've said it now, it may have been treacherous and the rest, but we were happy. People expect and are given too much now!
Anyway, I'm off to dig out that family photo album. I think I'll dust off those grainy photos of the cabin and have a reminisce.
Yours jocularly with a happy camper attitude,
The blogging Gogfather