Bournemouth- urinesexbloodsemenshit (Other locations...)

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Product:	Other locations...
Date:	06/08/02 (5 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: It ended

Disadvantages: Embarrassments

Last summer I went to Bournemouth and everything that could have gone wrong…. Did. This is no joke so please take this seriously although I admit it has been fun remembering all the things that went wrong and why the holiday ended up being a bit crap.

Last Summer at around this time, on a rainy day with horrendous thunder storms, me, my mum, my dad and the dog set off to Bournemouth for what was to become a very unpleasant visit. I saw the thunder as an omen, a sign of bad things to come into this holiday. I mean, Bournemouth wasn’t my key idea of a fun holiday- especially if it was going to be raining! I had been looking forward to the holiday, reading in the newspapers about record soaring temperatures around England- that some places had reached temperatures hotter than the Caribbean and Spain, Florida even! The thought of all those bikini clad women really set my heart beating but what really got me going was that the family video camera got repaired. Now, I just love that camera but it broke about two years ago. Last year it got fixed and I planned to make an in-depth documentary about life in Bournemouth and how the family would cope with the holiday. So, in my suitcase I packed all the good records I could find (Weezer, Green Day, Blink-182, Ash, There’s Something About Mary Soundtrack), the video camera, a couple of batteries (you never know), two 45-minute cassettes for the video camera and a few clothes (we were only staying for five days, some holiday!).

So, you could imagine how disappointed I was when the rain came pouring down. Nonetheless, my family packed into the family Golf to set off to Bournemouth and as my dad put it, “Don’t worry! The journey is half the fun”. It turns out the journey wasn’t fun at all. Five minutes into the trip, our first encounter with terror arrived as the dog vomited- spewing some food onto my shirt. Luckily it wasn’t my treasured Green Day tour t-shirt so I
wasn’t that pissed off about it.

You see, the problem with the car journey was that nobody had their own space to do things- everybody was thrown together in a big mess of clothes, vomit, books and music. It also didn’t help that my mum is a dangerous driver who has gone through about eight courtesy cars and damaged the Gold about five times in the last four years. She didn’t follow my dad’s directions. We got lost. We got about three hours behind schedule and we arrived tired and depressed (because of the constant rain but somewhat relieved to get out of the car and into our own space again) at a “hotel” that I will not mention in this opinion. Unfortunately, since my family always leave holiday bookings to the last minute, all the good hotels got taken out and the average ones wouldn’t let dogs. In fact, only a few hotels admitted dogs through their doors, one of which was ours. Now to call where we stayed a “hotel” is the biggest overstatement in mankind. Sixteen rooms, each about the size of three (small) bathrooms with a lowly “restaurant” to go with it. However, the people were very friendly but nothing could measure up to the disappointment when we reached our room. It was about double the size of our car meaning that we would all be thrown together again into a mess of books, vomit, and music and dog hair. Of course I recorded the family’s reaction on the video camera, the first scene I recorded for the first tape and nothing can measure the comedy value on my parent’s faces- shock, horror, disgust, insanity.

Pretty soon, as expected, the fighting started. I started jumping on the single bed and dad got angry saying “----, this is NOT our hotel. What do you think you’re doing, everybody in the other rooms can hear YOU”. I caught it all on tape and being influenced by Rage Against The Machine’s “Killing In The Name Of”, I replie
d to the camera in a mock tone, “----- makes the first aggressive movements in this holiday”. From then on, inter-family fighting wouldn’t cease until we got home.

Arguments started from the most minor of things:

The dog urinating on the carpet.

Giving the dog socks.

Leaving the toilet seat up.

The ominous presence of the video camera.

My dad’s snoring.

My mum even started shouting and said some “obscenities” to the camera (e.g. f**k you, f**k off, you f**khead, leave me the f**k alone) that made for some funny viewing when I got home. I started to become glad I brought the camera along; with so many golden scenes so far it would become a comedy classic documentary. I even found a title for my film, “The Worst Holiday On Earth”. Unfortunately, later my mum said she would break the camera if I didn’t rewrite over certain scenes…. However, to prevent this from happening in the future I hid the camera so they didn’t know it was recording.

That was day one. Day two was probably the most embarrassing day. Going down to breakfast, holding the camera and recording around the hotel, the lens momentarily hit the faces of a couple of teenage girls waiting at the reception. They thought I liked them and started following me around so my parents weren’t very impressed when they found out at breakfast. Unfortunately to make the matter worse, my mum brought the dog to the table without noticing the no-dogs sign printed clearly on the front of the door to the breakfast room. Now, my dog is friendly to us but is essentially a guard dog: sharp teeth, bloodshot eyes and an ambition to kill- you know the deal. So when the chef approached us- he got rather agitated and ended up attempting to attack the chef. Luckily, my mum was holding his lead (for once) and although the chef fell down the dog never managed to wipe his face clean off. He did c
ontinue barking though and we ended up, you got it right, getting banned from the restaurant after a number of unhappy guests complained about the incident. It was quite embarrassing. The manager and guests never looked at us in the same way again and we didn’t really get the best service from them anymore….

On day three we went to the beach. We could have gone on day two but all plans were corrupted by thunder and rain. Instead, we went to the cinema. You may ask, how could a dog go to the cinema. Well, my mum and the dog went around the town while me and dad went to see The Parole Officer (a wonderful film). When I came back, I could see my mum a bit more pissed off than her usual pissed off state. I asked what happened. Here goes:

Word has it that my mum took the dog around the town and some trouble started when the dog took a s**t outside a jewellery store. The manager came out and threatened a fine as my mum just walked away without scooping the pooping. My mum, being a psychotic ultra-b**ch, went psycho and started fighting thus causing the fight to escalate into gladiatorial proportions. A few attempted blows, a few barks from the dog and a few “f**k you”’s later, a police officer came and my mother narrowly escaped a trip down to the station…. With the dog. So, after that occasion we didn’t drive back with the best spirits to our “hotel”. It isn’t surprising at all then that we were very angry when we found the whole electrical system in our room was broken:

Lights

Radiators

Television

Radio

Yes, they were all not working. It also didn’t help that our “technician” (the manager of our “hotel”) nearly refused to come into our room after our dog tried to skewer him into a kebab, just how he likes his meat.

So far I had caught some excellent secretly filmed footage on the video camera and I was awaiti
ng some funny stuff to happen on the beach on day three. The truth is though- I didn’t have fun at the beach at all. All that happened was I sat depressed reading a book with my dad, my mother became over enthusiastic and the dog started either confronting or humping other dogs and humans alike.

On day four, my mum complained to the manager about his son playing with his scooter right beneath our room, thus making an annoying screeching sound. Five minutes later, my dad had to break up the fight before we had even more trouble with the police.

On day five, we escaped from Bournemouth as quickly as possible, got lost again, the dog vomited again and then we reached happily home.

The End.

Thank you for reading.

Drop me a line on the message boards and no I’m NOT a spoilt brat.

Pinkertonisrad.

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