My Big Fat Family Holiday - I survived!

Well, the big fat family holiday is over and we are all back in our respective homes in Kent, Sussex and Wiltshire.  This is the first time I've ever holidayed in the UK, not entirely surprising for someone who had visited Australia before she ever went to Scotland. It's the first time I've been on holiday with my extended family. Would I do it again? You bet I would/wouldn't* (delete as applicable)

For reasons best known to myself, I had pictured sitting in the acre and a half  of gardens at the barn in the summer sunshine, a good book in one hand and an elderflower presse in the other while the children browned themselves gently on the beach.  The reality was far less pleasant. The West Country could easily have been renamed the Wettest Country with days of torrential rain and temperatures hardly out of single figures.  The 'narrow lanes' in the brochure proved to be a spaghetti bowl of windy, narrow byways with 8 foot high hedges on either side blocking out the views of the beautiful Devon countryside, light, oxygen, sanity.......  The barn was at the end of a particularly tortuous 5 mile one.  We all cheered when we pulled out of that lane for the last time. The road down to the beach required crampons and abseiling equipment.

Moira had spent the week babbling away happily, oblivious to the fact that she was directing us down cart tracks and no through roads. She suffered daily abuse but it didn't seem to dent her enthusiasm.

We visited the South Devon Chilli Farm to sample the Bhut Jolokia, one of the hottest chillis in the world. It was an experience akin to ironing your tongue. On the first and last days we did get onto the beach at Slapton Sands (no sand)  and Blackpool Sands (no sand) a lovely beach that was just a little too Boden Mummy meets Organic Mummy for my liking.  The children all seemed to be called Raphael and Xavier or Kitty and Tilly (or anything else ending in a 'y'), the mummies were all toned and missing their daily workout at the gym back home in Richmond, the dads fortunately couldn't get signals on their mobile phones so we were at least spared the loud twatcalls to the office. It did have a lovely beach cafe selling organic food but by the time you'd paid the £6 parking fee -  yes Dear Reader, £6. They didn't mention that little surprise in the tourist guides - there wasn't much left over.  We had only gone for lunch but having forked out £12 between us just to park I insisted we stayed there till sundown among the squalling children and fractious parents. 

I took The Boy and The Girl to Exeter for the day which was much more their thing to be honest. We live in the country so we don't really need to holiday there as well.  We munched delicious nachos in the sunshine at Giraffe, casually wondering about the man with the red hair who was wearing a ball gown, before they bankrupted me in Jack Wills. I loved Exeter. It has a nice vibe. I told The Boy he may go to University there.

Top holiday moments were both thanks to my parents.  "So what are these jalapeno things?" said my mother as she put a forkful in her mouth - I've never known her speechless for so long -  and the moment when my dad's false teeth fell out in the middle of dinner in a restaurant was not to be missed.

My top tips for family holiday survival in no particular order are:

1.  You're staycationing. It's not a hot country. Take a coat

2.  No dogs, not even  well behaved ones like my sister's. Dogs bark. They bark especially at 5am every morning and wake you up. They don't however, wake up their owners

3.  Jump leads are good - unless you carry distress flares of course. That way, if you have an unexpected flat battery you don't have to try and direct the breakdown services to an unknown location somewhere in South Devon. Imagine the scenario......

"This is ABC Breakdown, how may we help?"

"Er, I have a flat battery"

"OK, that's no problem we'll send someone to you as soon as possible. Where are you?" 

"Devon"

"Could you be a little more precise?"

"South Devon?"

"What is your nearest town?" Dartmouth, it's about 10 miles away"

"Village then?" 

"Well I think I passed a signpost a while back saying 'You are entering Little Aresendofnowhere, please drive carefully' a while back" 

"OK, can you give me a landmark"

"Can you give me a laddder?"

"Sorry?"

"Hedges, lots and lots of hedges. That's all I can see"

"OK, is there anything behind the hedges that might make it easier to find you?"

"Damned if I know. They are all about 8 feet high."

4.  All snorers should be forced to share a room, preferably in another holiday cottage a few miles away.Perhaps give them some hotel coupons.

5.  No dogs

6.  Take a map. Do no, repeat not, rely on Satellite Navigation. Sometimes progress isn't all it's cracked up to be

7.  Lush green countryside means one thing. Rain. Do not leave your vast collection of sudden unexpected rainshower-bought umbrellas at home resulting in the purchase of yet another (very expensive) umbrella

8.  Did I say no dogs?

9.  When renting a holiday cottage in Devon bear in mind that 'narrow lanes' actually means virtually impassible in the normal world.  Taking your car for a few practice laps round the maze at Hampton Court Palace is adviseable just to get you acclimatised.  Also, bear in mind that driving speed is directly proportional to the width of the road. The narrower it is, the faster they drive. An adrenalin injection is also adviseable to restart your heart after a Range Rover Sport narrowly avoids parking on your bonnet

10.  Don't forget to pack your sense of humour. You'll need it.

Our next trip (now already taken place due to Delayed Blogging Syndrome) is to visit The Husband in Bulgaria, where he has sold his soul to Hollyweird.  Watch this space......

My Big Fat Family Holiday

I'm somewhere in Devon, I couldn't tell you where. I'm in a barn (a converted one) with 6 adults, 5 teenagers, 3 dogs and lots of laminate flooring.  Dogs and laminate flooring do not go together.  The constant tapping of claws on floors is driving me slowly mad. But in the depths of the South Hams, no-one can hear you scream.......

We set off from Wiltshire two hours late in a hail of shouting and recriminations at The Boy and The Girl. Both had failed miserably to do the jobs I had asked them to do.  The Boy was glowering and The Girl was firmly attached to her iPod with a Whatever look on her face.  The Husband, conveniently away filming in Bulgaria until Christmas, phoned to wish us Bon Voyage, knowing full well that this, our first holiday with my extended family, would likely be holiday hell rather than holiday heaven.

Moira, the SatNav, was chatting away gaily, which was just as well, as The Children certainly weren't.  I'm rubbish at long journeys. Within an hour my eyes start to feel heavy and the only known remedy is a Starbucks skinny latte, or, at a push one from Costa.  But the road to Devon is just that, a road. Not a motorway, most of the time not even a dual carriageway, and not so much as a Wild Bean Cafe.  Eventually Moira told me that I would be turning left onto the M5. Hallelujah! There was bound to be a service station. Sure enough, Exeter Services appeared on the roadsigns. We turned off. We were halfway back to Wiltshire by the time we found it.  Moira was very upset that we had deviated from her chosen route.

The service station was heaving. You could tell it was practically the only one between Exeter and the rest of the known world.  It was like a French service station at midday.  The man at Costa was overwhelmed. 45 minutes later I was the proud imbiber of a lukewarm, bitter latte and a hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream that refused to be whipped - I know the feeling!

We set off again on the last leg of our journey. Moira was anything if not confident and cheefully instructed us to 'Turn Right on Blackwell Road'.  Road was somewhat over-egging the pudding. Small, narrow lane with grass growing up the middle was a bit more like it.  We followed the road, as instructed.  It was one car wide with high hedges on both sides.  'Follow Blackwell Road for two miles', Moira told us.  Blackwell Road got narrower, the hedges got higher and we ran over a squashed chicken.

"Mum, was that a...." asked The Boy. "Yes".

'Turn right on road' shrilled Moira.  You know you are in trouble when the road doesn't even have a name. By now the hedges were touching both sides of the car.  'Turn left on road'. That'll be down the one signposted 'Unsuitable for Motor Vehicles' will it Moira, you cow!   By now The Children were starting to take a bit of notice.  "Where are we Mum?" asked The Girl.  Damned if I know, I thought.  We turned left up  a narrow lane which seemed devoid of road surface.  'Continue off road', said Moira cheerfully. Now if I'd been in the Disco, I might have, but the low slung Audi is not exactly built for off-roading.  Vorsprung Durch Technik it might be but the Technik hasn't quite stretched to 4 wheel drive and hydraulic jacks to lift it up over the potholes.  I decided to reverse back into a farm gate we had passed. Backwards, round  a bend on a narrow lane would appear not to be my forte. Never mind. I'm sure the scratches will polish out.

I reached the gate and reversed in. There was an almighty crunch as I grounded the car on a lump of tarmac. There's no tarmac on the road but there's a big pile of it in the gateway to a field. Go figure! I told The Boy to take off his flaming headphones and help me navigate. Moira was just intent on sending us round in a circle and back to where we were. We decided to outfox her by setting off in the opposite direction, trying to navigate back to where we had turned off the main road, defying the instructions sent to us by the owners. Why is it that we always think the SatNav knows best?

Wherever we turned, it led to another tiny, narrow lane. We passed a tractor with a hen sitting in the driving seat. It watched us with black beady eyes as we drove past.... and then when we went past again.... and then again the third time.  In 45 minutes we hadn't seen a single living soul except for the hen and a rabbit.  "We could get lost here and no-one would ever know" said The Girl helpfully. The Boy starting humming the theme from 'Deliverance'.  The chicken watched us go by again.  The instructions said we needed to take the second turning on the left. There was no turning on the left, or the right for that matter.

Eventually we found the main road.  Moira told me to go left 'Eff Off, Moira, I'm going right'.  The Boy sighed. "It's the wrong way Mum".  I don't care. At least the road is big enough that you can fit two cars side by side on it.  Eventually we reached the sea. The barn is most definitely inland.  Moira suggested turning up a road that was half the width of a suburban driveway. I declined her invitation.

Eventually we ended up back on the same road we'd started on.  The idea of spending a week in the car lost in the lanes of the South Hams of Devon was starting to look  a distinct possibility.  The Boy snatched Moira from her holder.  "Right, I'll sort it out" he said punching away at Moira's screen.  "Turn down here" he told me. "But we've already been down here god knows how many times. Look, there's the bloody chicken again!"  "Actually it's a different one" came a voice from the back seat.  "Trust me" The Boy told me calmly.  We set off down a lane which we could have already driven down several times for all I knew.  Eventually we came to a sign that said  'Private Property'.  I stopped the car. "Keep going" said The Boy. "But it's someone's house."  "Just drive Mum, we can get out the other side". Don't you just hate it when your kids are right.

My phone rang.  Thank God that at least I had a signal.  Maybe they could send us a police helicopter to guide us out of this maze of identical looking lanes.  It was my brother.  "Where are you... and where is this bloody place we are supposed to be staying?"  "No idea to both" I told him.  We rounded a corner to find him and his two children parked in the gateway to a field.  "The Boy says it's the other was so you'll have to turn round".  A 35 point turn later and we were all heading in  the right direction.  Half a mile further on it started to look familiar.  Google Street View familiar that is.  The Boy smiled smugly.  We were here. 2 hours late and nearly out of petrol but we were here.  The Big Fat Family Holiday could begin.

It's the Devon Flag in case you were wondering

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