Don’t read if you are eating!

I’ve not decided yet how many times a week to post. I know you are meant to be consistent but I’m going to go with: when I feel I have something to say or when I’m sat on the toilet weeing out of my bottom and need to pass the time.

After a few lovely hours on the beach on Friday, I now have my usual uneven redness. This time it’s sections of my right side, half of my left calf, and there’s also a white bit looking like Japan (/a banana) on my right shoulder. What is it with my complete fucking inability to apply suncream evenly?! Every holiday I do it, it’s now a predictable source of amusement for my husband (that and my “toe fingers” (I have long toes) which come out in summer) – great!

Anyway, patchy redness aside, the first week of our holiday has not quite been the relaxing fun break we imagined with us all taking it in turns to be poorly. E was the last, she was really sick when she was asleep in the pushchair while we were in the bar having nice times.  By nice times, I obviously mean me standing in the middle of the bar (thanks B, so wanted to show off my sexy tan) drinking prosecco while he ran in circles around me until he got dizzy and fell over (not too different to my days at Uni in Bobbi Browns nightclub actually). He kept knocking into a particular couple’s table.  They’d used the babysitting service to have a romantic child free evening so weren’t finding it quite as hilarious as he was – grumpy shits – “run faster B, run faster, do your aeroplane!”.

So, back to E’s sick 😝. It was that sick that comes out so bloody fast and in such an amount you actually don’t know what to do with yourself – secretly wanting to just run and take cover but instead having to pick your dripping baby up (thinking yet another load of bloody clean clothes ruined – ffs). Well it was too much for Dr Beck to handle that’s for sure and despite hours of scrubbing the pushchair (with hotel shampoo, Dr Beck ran out) it still bloody stinks of sick – lovely aroma next to your table at dinner. And you know the worst of it – we had to leave a half drunk bottle of prosecco in the bar to run back to the room. 😩

Things are looking up though, it’s another sunny day and today my brother, sister, mum and dad arrive (I used to think people going on holiday with parents post-16 were weird!). Halle fucking lujah, whoop woo, yahoo, booyah bring on the 6 adults (child entertainers) to 2 children ratio and more importantly cocktails, finished bottles of prosecco and nights not spent showering, rinsing and scrubbing a bath full of sick covered clothes (I refuse to pay €5 euros for the hotel to wash a pair of children’s socks – €5 feckin euros – do they not realise that’s twice maybe more than I bought them for in La George or l’Alday?!). Jokers!

No prizes for guessing our room..making the place look scruffy – the pikeys that we are.

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