Family Holidays? Aren’t they just the greatest experiences ever? And doesn’t it get even better when you realise you will be spending two weeks with them inside a tent? Think of the benefits, you are never more than two feet away from your family – at all times. I get a warm glow when I look back on my past holiday experiences: a warm intense glow of utter despair and anguish. The phrase “Lord save me” (literally) is never a far reach from the tip of my tongue. This is normally how it stars out:
Saturday morning and Dad screams down the house for us the get out of bed.
‘We should have been on the road hours ago.’
To which we all enthusiastically shrug our shoulders to say, ‘so’? Dad then harasses us as we sit down to breakfast. The oak cabinets are nowhere as wooden as his expression. His face crinkles into the contours of a map and he howls the entire time we digest our toast and annoyingly slurp our tea from the good china cups (Mam will have to soak them later, to his determent). She pats him on the back and tells him to mind he doesn’t have an embolism. To which I snigger and earn a clip in the ear for my troubles. Oh, he’s a hard man alright, just wait until he gets an eyeful of what I have in store for him. Then he asks the dreaded rhetorical question “will you bring your bag down?” Bag? Huh, he should be so lucky. We all scamper upstairs and spend a half hour packing the cases; obviously we are enthusiastic about sending entire minutes of bonding with Dad. One by one we creep the cases downstairs. He has already started to play Tetris with the boot and gradually we deposit an extra item of luggage as he turns his back.
‘Who the feck owns this?’
Mam points an accusing finger in my direction.
‘I thought this was your case?’ Dad groans pointing at an object that takes up half the ford estate.
‘It is. That one is mine too. Oh, and don’t forget this one.’
‘We’re only going for two weeks! What’s all that crap?’
I proceed to tell him one is for clothes, one for shoes and one for accessories, make-up and reading materials. I earn another clip in the ear for what he assumes is me being a smart-arse.
Mam gets off scot-free with all her luggage because he is too busy focusing on what extra’s I’m sneaking into the car. With the boot packed up and finally clicked to a close, Mam commences cleaning the house. And me? I’m left to help him attach the trailer tent to the back of the car. There I am standing like a twat, looking at this gobshite, straining himself lifting this stupid contraption and getting flummoxed that I’m too weak to help. He continues to attach wires to connect the car lights to the trailer.
‘Twiddle it a bit, no that’s not how you do it. What are you at?’ I demand.
Red in the face he politely tells me to ‘fuck off’. I accept his invitation. An hour later, boot pad-locked, trailer attached and his loving family dragged out by the ear, we start our journey. We all pile into the car; mother, father, brother and me. Yes I’m the one moaning and casting worried glances out the rear window. Then he starts. Then other insignificant individual I have the unfortunate pleasure of sharing the already cramped enough backseat with. He narrows his eyes and sticks out his tongue, taunting me. Only a few years out of childhood, I revert to my old ways. Discreetly my fingers somehow manage to find their way to his arm. I squeeze and pinch him hard. He yells, the car swerves and suddenly I’m being given a lecture on what I cannot do while dad is driving the car.
Silence then penetrates the air almost as thick as the smoke being emitted from my father. I keep my mouth shut; I don’t want a lecture on what adults can do in a car.
Through bleary eyes I watch hills, green and grassy roll on by. Mock enthusiasm takes a firm grip and I ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ just to keep the peace. Suddenly my breath does actually catch, for there in the window’s reflection, I see him; his middle finger dancing joyously, waving, jesting and beckoning for a response. I turn to face him, innocence dominating his face but still the finger wriggles and his blue eyes hold the gesture. Just as I am about to tell on the wicked little being, my attention is diverted to the rear window, fears materialising, for off pops the trailer tent and halts yards behind us. I roar. Chaos rules the car. Confusion. Finger dancing. ‘oohs and aah’s’ all gone now, only screams left as the tent now rolls its way down the steep hill the car huffed and puffed its way up. I could feel the car’s pain and unwillingness to do it all again, after all would you?
Dad stops the car and runs with his entire might, lungs tightening and wheezing, he thinks maybe he shouldn’t have had that last cigarette. Eventually he grabs hold of the trailer tent and yells frantically. We all sigh and heft ourselves up from our seats and join him – at our own leisurely pace. Together, as a family we push the blooming thing all those stressful yards back to the car.
With the tent fitted back into place we carry on deeper and deeper into the wilderness of rocks, more rocks and strangely enough sheep on rocks. Needless to say the roads aren’t amazing, with potholes and blemishes likes Dad DIY un-handyman-ship. The contents of the boot rattle furiously as do the contents of my confectionary laden stomach.
‘Pullover for feck sake.’
Dad catches a glimpse of my frantic face, pursed projectile lips and the hurried rolling down of the manual window. The tyres screech to a halt and I spew my guts up by the side of the road.
‘That’s it, get it all up, better out than in.’ Mam says while chomping on my unfinished mars bar. I wretch even louder watching her swallow it. Her stomach was weaker than she thought and next minute she was by my side, not patting me on the back, rather matching my spewing pattern.
‘Hurry up or i’ll leave ye here!’ Dad yelled. To which he got two angry vomit covered females glaring at him.
‘Okay take your time...just keep it out of the car.’
Smack bang in the middle of some godforsaken stretch of road, my brother decides he has to go. Really, he could have picked a better spot. So we stop and off he pops behind the nearest bush. I smile and say to Dad: ‘Isn’t that an American camper van over there?’ My brother sticks his head up from behind the green mass. ‘What?’
Too late, they have already snapped themselves a picture of the lily-white Irish bum. Thank god the phrase ‘kiss me, I’m Irish’ wasn’t even contemplated. Red cheeked and burning with embarrassment he scrambles back to the sanctuary of the car. Quietly I laugh, priceless! Later, much later we arrive at the campsite, it is packed except for one spot and I soon discover why. The plot of grass has a steep gradient, of course that would be fine if you didn’t mind the blood rushing to your head while you sleep; or on a wet night, finding that your bed was suddenly in the kitchen compartment and you were now sliding out the door. But being up a hill with a tent which has wheels is beyond a joke. Dad insists it’s perfectly level, now if you trust his eyesight you will trust anything.
We begin to unload; quietly I curse the world and my parents for not being normal. As if in answer the heaven open and down pours torrential rain. Dad starts to swear, I run for cover and Mam…? Well, she disappeared long ago when work was apparent. It rains and rains some more, bemusement establishes itself within me as grim defeat spreads over dad. Suddenly a ray of light peeps through the clouds and the heavens shut their floodgates; perhaps they thought I was getting too cocky. I’m force out of the car, but I won’t go quietly. I stamp and splosh in the wet grass and refuse to let grace find me.
In theory the tent with wheels is supposed to just fold out. Yeah right. Well it certainly proved a whole lot more difficult than had been anticipated. Poles fly and hit Dad square in the head. He begins to yell obscenities; I don’t think even the oxford dictionary has come across the likes of that type of flowery language. He pinched his fingers in the telescopic bars and more poles just collapse from above. I giggle uncontrollably. Seeing my hysterical state Dad effortlessly swings the poles and hits me hard in the stomach. I fall to the ground. Now he is the one doubled up with laughter. Again, my immature evaluation of the situation leads me to commit an unforgivable sin; I call him one of the words he had so eloquently used and throw a stone at him. I missed, but that’s not exactly what has him so upset. He bounds around after me, I skid and slide and shriek in absolute terror.
Unexpectedly my brother swings open the car door, curiosity getting the better of him. I just about manage to avoid the collision but Dad isn’t so lucky. He falls to the ground winded, dizzy and disorientated. I’m relieved; he looses all his motivation to kill me. The sky then darkens and my bother shuts the door with a bang. Rain clouds reform and thunder rolls overhead. Mother springs from wherever her hiding place was and dives into the car. I follow her example leaving a dysfunctional father to get soaked, it served him right anyway. Finally sense begins to break through and he staggers with great effort into the car. ‘We’ll put that bloody thing up when it stops raining.’ He growls. Abruptly lightening flashes in the background. I spin around and there stands a sizzled trailer tent, wheels spring off refusing to hold up the charred canvas load. It’s no surprise then that we book into a five star hotel now is it?
