A holiday you will remember is our caravan visit to Abersoch in north Wales. We and our friends had booked what we thought were pitches on a lovely caravan park on a picturesque Welsh farm. The reality was a meadow with a large area of the long summer grass cut short next to a grey, dreary farmhouse occupied by ample and jolly Mrs Williams.
What you must recall is how Mrs Williams dried her laundered, voluminous knickers by spreading them on the lawn that surrounded the farmhouse. This provided endless mirth; jokes about the canvas from the yachts in the nearby harbour being blown across to the farm and so on.
The cut grass, piled into heaps dotted around the field provided endless amusement to you and our friend’s two boys; you jumped in it and ran around, whooping, throwing the grass at each other. As I wandered back from the primitive privy at the back of the house you all turned on me and I reacted like a demented Steve Martin.
You chased me round the back of our caravan. Running at full tilt while at the same time looking round to goad the pack of children chasing me I failed to notice the open window which was roughly at the height of my neck.
If our caravan had been an older model with aluminium frames and not the Perspex type with rubber seals I would have been decapitated. Fortunately, if it could be described that way, the window hit me across my neck and pole axed me. As I regained my wits and consciousness I became aware with increasing panic that I couldn’t breathe or speak; partly because of a partially crushed windpipe but mainly because my mouth was being stuffed with grass by three delirious children gleefully bouncing up and down on my prone body.
Eventually, with a great deal of effort, I fended you all off and staggered into the caravan sporting a black slash across my neck and strands of grass hanging out the side of my mouth and from my nose to the hilarity of the adult members of our party.
This incident at least provided an alternative to Mrs Williams knickers as a source of jokes for the rest of the holiday.
7 Comments on "Guest Post From Gramps … Holiday Memories (2)"
Absolutely brilliant, crying with laughter! More Gramps, more!
Hahaha! Sorry Gramps, shouldn’t laugh..*splutter* I now have a serious case of the giggles! Wonderful story…
Too too funny!
Am laughing so hard it hurts and the kids think I’ve gone doolally tap!
Gramps for Prime Minister?
No?
Gramps is SUCH a good story teller! I vote he starts his own blog!
Poor gramps! We stayed in a similar camp site near Ruthin in north Wales when I was about 10 – a farm house, a field of cut grass, a couple of swings, 2 toilets and one shower I think. Our tent was an ancient canvas thing that took my parents ages to put up and we always worried it might leak if anything touched the sides. Me & my sister had grass fights with some other kids who came from the Durham area.
Crying laughing, sorry Gramps!