Better to travel than to arrive? Bollocks!
Would you believe it; Ive only just arrived in the North-East, and already the love starved local beauties are lining up for my attentions.
After last years holiday from hell in France, weve decided to play it safe this year, which means staying in this country at places that are tried, tested and trusted. Northumberland is the first stop, followed by Norfolk in July. I know, I know; were just too flash for own good.
As usual, the drive up North was a fucking tedious 5 hour affair. It seemed that we were in one long queue all the way from Derby to Bamburgh. However for entertainment we had all those cars covered in England flags and stickers. As a German colleague once said to me about daytime TV: it is watched by a
certain social class of person; I think we can safely say the same about people who cover their cars in England paraphernalia.
And now the weather. Sunny and mild, but very windy. And thats that.
Wife and A have gone shopping to Morrisons to stock up on essential fats and sugars. A turned 13 in March and has become increasingly horrible ever since. As a Youth Worker I should be used to gobshite teenagers, but when its your own, it different. On the subject of gobshite kids; on the way home from work, one night last week, I cycled past a group of four lads. As I got level with them, one of the little fucks pointed a catapult at me. Dont even think about it twat stopped the attack, but I was still treated to the usual yer fucking wanker and yer fucking fat twat. I know that lamping these twats is out of the question, so Ive been toying with the idea of carrying a water pistol filled with piss (my own, of course). However, these always leak, and I think 42 is a bit young to start stinking of piss. I was discussing this with the chaps at work, and the finest engineering brains in the land had soon decided that a modified drinks bottle was the weapon of choice. Rather like Travis Bickle cleansing the filth ridden streets of New York with his 44 Magnum, Ill soon be doing the same on the means streets of Chellaston with my bottle of piss.
Force 10 from Navarone
Off to Shithouses in the afternoon to mingle with the masses, and what a lot there were. I soon got pissed off with this, and we headed off back towards Bamburgh, to park up in one of the beach car parks. We then enjoyed a walk up the beach towards the castle. Enjoyed is probably not the right word as we were walking into a brisk northerly wind, which combined with walking on soft sand, made the task jocking hard work. Still, it was better than being in Shithouses. Once in Bamburgh we did what every right-minded person would do, and headed for the pub. Then it was back to the cottage. All in all, a pretty uneventful day.
Closer inspection has revealed that the lovely ladies in the field outside the kitchen window, are in fact lads. An easy mistake to make up here.
Tears and Tantrums
Today we sampled the delights of Berwick and Kelso, and then I had an argument with A, who declared it all to be: crap and boring. I now realise that the halcyon days of our family holidays are over. Weve now joined the ranks of those poor bastards that you see on holiday, being trailed reluctantly by their sulky, belligerent looking brood. To round off the perfect day we had a hypothermia inducing walk on the beach at Shithouses, and are now watching Big Brother. I have to admit that the tourettes lad is top class entertainment. That may not be very politically correct, but thats what hes there for isnt it.
Were getting the train to Edinburgh tomorrow, so Im already whittling about parking and cheeky twats in our nice reserved seats.
Not in the World Cup
With military precision and planning we got Berwick station with plenty of time to spare. Parking proved a doddle, and all we had to do then was kill the 45 minutes before the big choo-choo train arrived. Killing time is not an easy thing to do on Berwick station, although I did manage go to the toilet twice. Once the train arrived, there was the small matter of would there be anybody in our seats? And fuck me there was! It turned out to be a yank, illegally occupying one of seats. We quickly liberated said seat and restored order and democracy. The journey up was as good as I expected, with some stunning coastal scenery. The fact that the sea was quite choppy only served to enhance the scene.
After arriving at Edinburgh we got something to eat at TGI Fridays, and then slogged our way up to the castle. Slog that it was, the walk up to the castle afforded some great views across the city. It amazes me how you can have so many spectacular buildings in such close proximity, and all surrounding a couple of very lovely parks. The railway running through the middle of it all, gives the impression of a gigantic train set.
The thing with a train set though, is that you can remove bits and pieces that you dont want or like. Regrettably this wasnt the case with queue at the castle. The fact that it was £30 for the four us, also put us off. Mean, I know but to be honest I dont believe the girlies would have been too interested. However we did go in the camera obscura which was excellent, apart from the fucking giant hologram of a fucking giant spider. We dont do spiders, at all.
We then headed back to Princes St, as the girlies had some urgent shopping to do. I on the other hand, being a bit fucking cultured, like, decided to go round the national gallery instead. Very pleasant it was too. Although the paintings were mainly of the classical type: lots of religious stuff, and well proportioned birds with their tits out, which doesnt really appeal to me, it was still very enjoyable. The Scottish collection in particular is well worth a look, especially the seascapes by William McTaggart. Needless to say I did the bloody tourist routine and took loads of photos, some of which might actually be ok. After yesterdays tantrums A was quite happy, largely due to pair of new shoes from Schuh, as indeed was P who also sported some new daisy roots. Shopped out and cultured up, we headed back to Berwick. On the train we encountered more Americans, who were whinging about the state of the trains. To be honest the trains were fine: on time, clean and had some where to sit. Whilst that might not meet the requirements of the American blueprint for the way WE want the world to be itll sure as shit do for me.
Crabs
After the hurly-burly of the big city we decided to have a quieter day, rock pooling down at Shithouses. Whilst Wife and girlies were doing this I attempted a spot of fishing. However as the waves got bigger and higher, I bottled it and headed back to the shoreline, losing my fly in the process. The rock pooling wasnt much more successful although they did get quite a few hermit crabs. Fed up with this we headed back to Banburgh for a walk on the beach and a paddle in the sea. Although the sea was bitterly cold, it wasnt too bad once all feeling had been lost below the ankles. Wife and girlies knocked up a few sand sculptures; Wife producing a lovely snake, and the girlies making sculptures of giant dog-doos. After tea Wife and I went for a walk down to the bird-hide on the beach below the cottage. However we didnt even make it on to the footpath as we mobbed by my adoring public.
Instead we went to a place called Ross Links, where we greeted by more rabbits than you could shake a stick at. In fact it was a little bit eerie. Everywhere we turned there were rabbits; I became convinced they were stalking us.
Up the garden path
Today weve been to The Alnwick Garden, which was a little disappointing to be honest. According to Wife its been designed with kids in mind, which unfortunately means theres hundreds of the little bastards running around, screaming, and generally being a fucking nuisance. The gardens themselves arent bad, if a bit on the small side.
However The Poison Garden which I was looking forward to going round was guided tour only, which I cant be doing with; you always get some twat asking questions which they obviously know the answer to. Sending some of the kids in unaccompanied would have been a good idea, though. And then theres the Tree house. Its a spectacular structure, but going into it, is like a visit to a whacky-warehouse. I decided to leave before the urge to dangle a child over the rope bridge got the better of me. Whilst in Alnwick we also paid another visit to Barter Books, and as usual spent a few bob on second hand books. However, my enquiry as to the availability of books that you can have a really big wank to, was politely ignored. In the evening, after a bit of uming and ahing, we decide to go to Bamburgh for a drink. Imagine my surprise upon entering the Queen Vic hotel to find lots of mums and dads, complete with squealing kids. It was like a MacDonalds with beer. Sitting somewhat alarmingly amongst this lot, was a slightly mad looking local lad. The fact that he was ginger obviously did him no favours, but his camo jacket and matching cap set the alarm bells ringing. I have to say that the name Michael Ryan sprang to mind. If one of those had kids had spilt a spoonful of Henry Hippo ice-cream on the jacket, it could easily have been Kalashnikov time.
Here comes the Sun
Another day not doing too much, and the location for this lethargy is Bamburgh beach. It really has been a belter of a day, with unbroken sunshine. Myself and P made this lovely sea-serpent on the beach, complete with delicately adorned seaweed.
For tea we headed down to Shithouses again, for fish and chips which were excellent. We ate these under the close supervision of a flock of seagulls, although I hasten to add, not the shit 80s band. Naturally these chaps got the scraps, but they were also joined by a few Jackdaws. What brilliant looking birds! I definitely want one as a pet. I could train it to attack the old twats next door.
Yet again were watching Big Brother. It really is car crash TV. Ironically, in light of all the fuss that was made about Pete, the tourettes lad, hes rapidly emerging as the most well adjusted, and it has to be said, thoroughly decent one of the lot.
Home James
Our holiday was brought to a close with another 5 hour slog on the motorway, although it would have been 4 hours if a couple of cockheads hadnt had a crash at Scotch Corner. More drama was to follow at home. Logging on for the local news it appears that our works canteen was torched by some dole scum from the nearby giro-city. Needless to say, being a greedy bastard Im not very impressed. Ill have to bully the smaller boys for their lunches.
And more upset was to follow. Myself and P went to collect Jack from the kennels. When we got there he was outside in one of the runs. On seeing us he got into such a state that he started chewing on the wire mesh of the pen. Unfortunately we didnt realise at the time, but he broke one of his lower canines in doing so. We got him home and he seemed fine, and then he started bleeding heavily from his mouth. It was then that we discovered the broken tooth, which was extremely jagged. We can only assume that it had cut into his tongue. Hes got to go into the vets on Wednesday to have it pulled, which is a real shame as hes got a cracking set of knashers; unless youre a rabbit or a poodle, that is.
