The Holiday – Part 6

Proceeding on the basis that it is always best to surprise your opponent, I smiled and said fun, isn’t it…



I detected the faintest trace of frost melting.


Well, it could be worse, I hazarded, at least its not the Dales at the height of foot and mouth…those sheep could be dead and we could have crossed through 3 army checkpoints and a ton of disinfectant by now…


They started to laugh.


Ah…such is the joy of our family holiday back catalogue… each year a rich seam to be mined for such unique little gems as the one where the toy train nearly killed Louis but he was saved by his Doodles shoe OR the one where Robert opened the caravan toilet door and saw Mum wiping her bum (and he said he had seen the future – and it was not good) OR the one where we ended up in the middle of the Belfast Orange Walk and someone from the marching bands shouted “Hoi, that you Big Stu!”…


For the record that last was so very not meant to happen – and certainly not to happen to my vehemently anti-sectarian husband – a man who (known in his youth as Big Stu) had objected all the way from Strabane to Belfast but had given in to my pleading that my relatives (wonderful educated Belfast folk) would be offended if we didn’t attend that day for dinner and that anyway, no one who knew him would see him there...






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