The very thought of it makes us both feel sick. We never talk about it. We try not to even think about it. But, as I foolishly made reference to it in my last story, loads of people are asking me about it. So here you bloody go!..
We’d been to Glastonbury before. So this time I was so much more confident, and all like “why don’t we go down to Newquay after Glastonbury? Cos Newquay’s miles away, and we’d all ready be nearly there”?! I’m thinking I’m a genius, and that this is the best idea I’ve ever had. This was going to be a brilliant adventure. Why wouldn’t it be?!
We had a small falling out at Glastonbury. I was happy to spend another year boycotting the bands in favour of the skate park. But I did want to watch Blondie. So we made our way over early and got a boss spec.
Sonny was on my shoulders eating a jar of Nutella with a spoon.
Watching BLONDIE! From an uninterrupted view AT GLASTONBURY! While eating a jar of Nutella with a spoon.. THR DREAM, right? No. 5 minutes in and Sonny’s insisting he’s bored. And instructing me to exit the extremely dense crowd at The Other Stage, by smacking me on the head WITH HIS DIRTY SPOON!
Properly pissed me off! The ungrateful little get! (If I have to remove this part when Sonny reads it, don’t forget to remind people it’s supposed to say ‘ungrateful little get’, here.)
So we left Glasto a bit early that Sunday afternoon and started driving down to our campsite Carlyon Bay, in Cornwall. Which I booked because a girl in work had been before and said it was boss.
Now, I knew Cornwall was far, but I didn’t realise quite how far! Especially considering we were already in bloody Somerset. Anyway, it’s dead dead far. As far as you can imagine, then a bit further. And I deffo wouldn’t recommend doing the drive with only a child (you’re already fuming with,) for company.
Anyway, gets there. Puts the tent up and Goes to sleep. (Still fuming.) The Campsite’s lovely! It’s got a swimming pool and the weather was gorgeous! We could have been in Spain or Greece, or anywhere.
The next day we headed straight for the famous Fistral Beach. We bought a surfboard-thing from the shop and laughed at a FAT WILLY’S sign. We were pumped up! We we’re deffo gonna become boss surfers over the next few days. Absolutely, no doubt about it.
We went in the water for about 3 minutes. But it was all wet and salty (eugh!) And the waves were dead strong. Like, they knocked us over! It was horrible tbqfhwy. So we sat on the beach and watched other people get knocked about by the waves.
I’d bought a little picnic from the Morrison’s on the way down. So I put it all out on our little picnic blanket, not even anywhere near to the sea! Next thing, a big massive wave came right up the beach. We jumped up and ran out the way, but the entire picnic was dragged out to sea. I can still remember all the mango slices in the sand.
Sonny thought this was hysterical, and I was still BLOODY FUMING!
No bother. We’ll get a little remortgage on the house and buy some of that Rick Steins fish and chips. Happy days! I had a beer, and comforted myself with the thought of everyone else stuck in the Glastonbury traffic, dezzy for a shower.
One of the things I thought we could do while down there, was a fishing trip. Little boys love stuff like that, don’t they? We’d made mates with an older couple on the campsite who said they’d cook the fish we caught on their BBQ for us when we got back. And the 4 of us planned to have a little campsite party.
So I had a look online. There was a 2 hour fishing trip or a 4 👏🏻 Hour 👏🏻 Deep 👏🏻 Sea 👏🏻 Fishing 👏🏻 Trip. And if I’m in for a penny, I’m in for a pound!
Here’s me, here. Thinking that a beautiful Silk Fred Perry Polo under a Vivienne Westwood cardigan, is perfect fishing attire.
We waited at the meeting point along with 4 big horrible fella’s, obviously waiting for the same excursion. They were going to us “you do know this is a fishing trip”? And I’m all like ‘"just cos I’m dead fit, doesn’t mean I can’t hold a fishing rod, yeah!"
So we all jumped on the boat. Remember that sea I mentioned from the day before?Well that.. but rougher!
The little boat’s bobbing up and down waves the size of my house, and the skipper’s driving us further and further out to sea. Like, far out to sea. I couldn’t even see the land! Next he starts chopping up this squid for bait, and it’s guts are all going everywhere. It’s raining on my silk and Westwood, and the waves aren’t giving the boat a minutes peace.
About 45 minutes into the 4 hour trip, someone passed me a fishing rod. Almost immediately I dropped it and started throwing up over the side of the boat. Really lovely of the wind to change direction that very second, and bring most of the vomit back towards us all.
The horrible fella’s were fuming!
Next Sonny starts throwing up. My head was so far up my arse I couldn’t even comfort him.
We could not stop throwing up. Not for a single second!
The poor skipper was worried that we might die and also that the 4 horrible fella’s would kick off if he tried to take us back to shore. Can you die from sea sickness? Cos I’m pretty sure we were close! Eventually he got in touch with a passing ferry and asked it to come and collect us.
That’s right… A huge ferry full of hundreds of confused (but no where near as angry as the 4 horrible fella’s) passengers, had to answer our mayday and sail off course to come and rescue us!
We got back to the car and both immediately fell asleep, exhausted from the shear trauma.
When we eventually got back to the campsite, our couple mates are cheering and getting the BBQ out shouting “oooh yay! What did you get?!"
We just walked straight past them in silence. Hunched over. Green.
We woke up at 9pm that night (thinking it was the next morning.) To a message from one of my uni mates, asking if we’d just been on a fishing trip. Cos her cousin, (who’s a skipper in Cornwall) was talking about the whole fiasco on Facebook.
The shame!!
We spent the rest of the week with our feet firmly on the land, where we clearly belong!
Looking back, I should have known the fishing trip would be a debacle. Seeing as I was so violently travel sick on a barge holiday (age 11) that I shit my knickers. And then, my cousins put the Kwik-Save carrier bag (with my shitty knickers inside it) up the flag pole!
I honestly believe it was childhood traumas like these that gave me my sense of humour.
Anyway. We visited the Eden Project the next day. Which is alright I suppose.. if you fancy plants.
On the way there we stopped at a cafe to get a Brekkie. Sonny ordered something stupid he had no intention of eating and I ordered a full English. Well, you can imagine the level fume that engulfed me when my Full English Breakfast came with 2 chippy sausages on it!
I’d had enough of this holiday!! “Where am I, here?! And why do the locals think that 2 chippy sausages are ACCEPTABLE on MY breakfast?! On MY HOLIDAYS!"
Now, I know loads of people who love Cornwall. But it’s not for me. Me and Sonny couldn’t find any mates. Honestly, apart from the Manc couple from our campsite, absolutely no one wanted to be our mate. Which is dead unusual.
Me and Sonny can make mates anywhere!
When we went to Anglesey we made loads of mates. And there were never ever any chippy sausages anywhere but in the chippy, where they bloody belong! And it doesn’t take 10 hours to drive home.
when we eventually did get home, I dropped Sonny straight off at his Nan’s. We were sick of the bloody sight of each other!
We’ll just go to Anglesey next time. For the best.
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