Skip to main content

Day 3: Gin, shit, and jelly snakes

I thought my luck was in.... there being a distinct geographical anomaly of the GPS Reg-tracker of the Facebook to TripAdvisor continuum. Enough to have thought the stars may be shining on me and that he could have another bar 2 streets away. Wishful thinking but spurred on by the thought of a strong wifi connection AND baked beans for Small, I set off. He did reply to my message, and Facebook post, and friend's email. I shall put le grand opening in my diary, for 83 days' time. Good old Reg.

But all was not lost! Hark! English people in the hotel! I lurked over the neighbouring table like a vulture circling over it’s next dying meal, spotting a gap I put my big girl pants on- ‘are you English?’

They are. And are visiting a relative for Christmas and eating in the restaurant for the night and about as sympathetic as. Bet they’re Brexiteers. But Christmas songs are playing, there’s the fancy table clothes laid out, maybe they’re ramping it up for the Big Day, and I’ve just been whining incessantly for no reason?!

The next couple, lounging by the burning log fire (was that even there yesterday?) I spot them a mile off, snowman deelyboppers signalling their British-ness to even the dullest penny in the pocket. ‘Where is there to go at this time of year?’
‘Oh, you’re staying here for Christmas, I’m sorry. He states with the downbeat apologetic face that only a shit friend would pull upon her mate meeting quite the munter on a blind date. More locals. I’m doomed.

I thought I was onto a winner. They’d even filled up the water fountains glazing the perimeter of the hotel entrance, bubbling jets a visual synonym for my anticipation that in the morning the spa would be lit like a Christmas tree, and I'd be splashing away with Small in that indoor pool, vague memories of something from a horror movie fading quicker than the speed of light.

But nope. So I’m drinking gin. Because there’s literally fuck all else to do.

And that smell of shite I can’t seem to shake? No, the stress of this little comedy of errors has not made me fecally incontinent, it’s the sling. A perfect line that any artist would be proud of, right up the back of Small’s sling. That I’ve just scrubbed with complementary shampoo and a babywipe. A £100 sling. The wanky middle class mum within me has just died, aka tinkerbell in Neverland.

4 more days, we gots this!


Popular posts from this blog

Covid jail day 4- Bush fruit and shit puns

Hearing the gasps of shock upon stating that Small has been foraging for raspberries outside, gave it a fair 5 minutes before admitting that the fruit picking was from our garden. It would appear that in the 15 years that some previous owners lived here, they developed a penchant for bush fruit -snort- including gooseberries, and what I discovered following a very bitter mouthful wasn't lethal but in fact blackcurrant. What do I do with a fuck tonne of blackcurrants? Periodically affirming that I'm not the shittest Mom in a 50 mile radius as she's feeling incredibly smug with the haul, I had to force myself not to laugh in her face as she badly washed then wolfed more than a couple of aphids along with these garden jewels.  Day 2 of covid jail saw me in more than a small tangle. Who knew covid would give me the coccyx of an aged Chippendale and ankles of a hockey player? Maybe that's just too much enthusiasm demonstrating weird and wonderful birthing positions. In any s

Day 6: See, I'm not always whining! I could even (after enough booze) book something similar again!

Distinct lack of Insta-twats today, apart from their little paddy this evening, slamming doors and shouting profanities whilst walking away. Not sure what it reminds me of most, the Toddler in the midst of rage or the Teabag that was. Only difference is one pisses herself when she gets angry that she can’t understand (and the other.... we'll just leave that there). We’ve had a really awesome day. And I’ve got that warm fuzzy feeling that oxytocin, reconnecting with my Small piece, and having too much gin to put in the case home- brings. So this will either be short and sweet, or ridiculously boring. Either way I’m sure the blog will be falling by the wayside, as far less shits are given when things go better than expected. And let’s just say here, the bar was definitely set with the demonstrable shitstorm that the past 4 days have been, so in advance for our lack of catastrophe, I apologise. I managed to buy not one but two pairs of shoes today, mentally resolving to not g