06:58 – it’s visit number two to the pool area. I took everyone’s towel but my own. My second, and possibly most fatal mistake was to not have heard (or in her language “not listened”) to the orders handed down to me by “her in bed”: “get an extra sunbed”.
Some people have the right idea… Send your kids to do the dirty work! There’s two girls here, maybe seven and nine reserving their space. Their parents enjoying a lay in bed, probably after spending a hard night thieving. They are scousers after all.
Speaking of dirty tricks, I am guilty also, after missing my intended target and shooting a passing swimmer with a water gun yesterday, I quickly thrust the gun into my sons hand and proceeded to look natural whilst he took the full force of the victims dirty look. I still slept very well thanks.
As it turns out, tattoed-chav-man is pretty tidy to talk to, not that I’m implying that every tattooed person is a thieving pikey shyster. He is Scottish and is pretty fed up of the fact you have to get up at 6 am on holiday to get sunbeds. I guess in Scotland his council estate swimming pool has sunbeds-for-all. He has a point though, there are too many arseholes here who reserve a block of beds and only show up for an hour in the afternoon.
07:17 – I’m getting closer to the holy-grail, breakfast at opening time. On my own. No ducking the swinging jowls of overweight exercise-dodging women or avoiding the clumsy feet of 20-stone football shirt wearing 40-something’s (tip: you look like twats). Nope, today I predict a stress free breakfast. No queue for the toast, the yoghurt will be cold, angels will sing and more importantly the kids won’t be there waiting impatiently for me to fetch them their breakfast only to inform me on my return that “I don’t like that” or “a fly looked at it, it’s got germs” FFS!!!
08:04 – I’m here, breakfast, alone. It’s fairly quiet, has only been open for 30 minutes and as if by some coincidence none of the (sweeping assumption warning) fat lazy chavs are here yet. Breakfast sans-stress.
Note to all blonde haired 12 year old boys who look like girls, don’t grow long hair Hanson stylee, it isn’t helping matters for you doo-bop-girl-boy. And neither does the Metallica T-shirt or (even more disturbingly) the cravat.
10:50 – nothing has changed here in cellulite city. People have arrived by the pool, had their fill, for now, but it won’t be long until they smell the chip and move in a sloth-like manner towards the snack bar.
I’m still sat on my own, some of the others appeared briefly, someone has to stay here though. If we were going to sod off for the day, I shouldn’t have been instructed to take seven sunbeds. I’m not moving.
A bus ride to the next resort has been suggested for tomorrow, I’m finally starting to feel motivated. We can get ourselves a few if those nose-bags the other animals seem to be getting. After all, we wouldn’t want to be paying for anything would we?
With all of the time I spend at work, the most stressful thing about this “holiday” is two weeks with my own family, great though they are, this feels like some sort of social experiment. I’m mildly disappointed that Channel 4 haven’t bought the rights to it so I can be voted off and sent home.
Sadistic bastards the British public are, I would probably end up being kept here until the end with all the shite entertainment (picture crap dancing and miming to irritating woman-trash-film-music) just so the swines can watch me suffer and squirm.
It’s not as bad as I make out though, there’s something supremely enjoyable about doing bugger all, whilst at the same time it’s a little annoying. I mean, I’ve already got over halfway through my book, that’s un between arse wiping sessions (the kids – mostly), troughing, swimming and watching the antics if Brendan (the five year old troublemaker / bully) and Shark-Finlay.
11:15 – I was worried my kids had some serious OCD’s but now I feel fine about it. Just spotted some intense orange segment arranging, see for yourself:
Hotel staff just informed me that the WiFi here is “too expensive” so I will stick with the £3 per MB 3G connection instead. It’s not like I’m listening to spotify is it?
Really need the toilet now, going to take a judgement call and decide if it’s safe to leave the kindle, digital camera and headphones here whilst I go. One of the symptoms of modern life, seems to ensure I keep at least £700 of gadgets with me at any one time.
What’s wrong with a paperback book again? Nobody wanted to make off with them.
15:05 – got offered a newspaper by a bloke sitting near us just now. I can’t decide whether he was a nice bloke for making this offer or not. His newspapers were The Sun and The Mirror. Nice to see he was getting a balanced view of the news though.
21:27 – We are sitting outside now, it’s nicer than the sweaty loud inside where the benidorm-esque entertainment is taking place, instead we can hear live jazz sung by a nice looking woman and the kids are playing nicely together running around. Surely someone is going to piss me off? Having nothing to moan about just made this the single most boring paragraph I’ve written!
themiseryguts 