It wouldn't be an Arnold holiday without at least one visit to a foreign hospital and some other random disasters thrown into the mix. For those who know us - I doubt many would be surprised if our entire family got obliterated by a freak meteorite shower or slowly eaten to death by a previously unheard of form of deadly skin fungus. Unlikely things just seem to happen to us. We are like "weird sh*t" magnets. Mega-attractors.
So - the holiday started well. A few last minute shopping items to get in town - some shorts for me - sun cream etc. Things start badly in the car park when Sarah reverses straight into a really large concrete wall at pace (Sarah disagrees with the "pace" statement - claiming that only the back window actually imploded with the impact). So that's ok then.
After the obligatory slow motion expletives that follow any crash - I decided to take over the driving and we make a hasty exit from the car park. Helpful passers-by and fellow road users wave frantically and point out the obliterated back window and the shards of glass flapping uselessly in a trail behind us. I have no time for such dilly dallying - this car is taking us to the airport in the morning. Window or no back window!
Needless to say - the turnaround is too tight on the windscreen and we wave goodbye to it at the garage and walk back into town.
The omens aren't looking good for the holiday. We take the clapped out banger to the airport - the one with the carboard holding the glove box together and the dashboard warning lights awash with reds and oranges so it's lit up like the cockpit of a 747 before take-off. I do the manly thing and reinfalte the soft tyres and we are ready for holiday.
The South of France is beautiful. We race past vinyards and beautiful medieval towns and there is a deep yearning in me to drink beer and wine and sit in the sun.
The kids love the pool and the slides. I get stuck on the pool slides like some sort of embarrassed beached whale - but a few tips from other holiday makers and we realise that the dad's have improvised with sun tan lotion to grease themselves up before launch. (There's no way I'm gonna be left for dead by no three year old ever again on that slide!).
Day two and me and my mate (his family came on holiday too - just to make sure we didn't get into too much trouble!) - me and my mate have drunk enough wine and beer as we light a BBQ on the campsite - to impress the girls with our daring feats of climbing. I make it to the top of the tallest tree I can find. There is an ominous creak and I weigh up the possibility of certain death as the tree collapses. A Darwin Award beckons. The kids are delighted - waving up at us and yelling "higher higher!". Our wives are laughing - but there is fear in their laughter. This could be a trip to casualty - they are thinking. We survive with mere flesh wounds and grazes to show for our antics.
Day four - a Sunday - why is it always on a Sunday? And we have to take the youngest to the docs with a cut. Sods law - all the docs are still sleeping off the misery of Uruguay France nil nil. Using my best broken French - we make it to Perpignon hospital and steer our way through the French medical system with random shrugs and the phrase "Je n'ai pas Le EC11".
Day five and it is a dull day. So we drive like the clappers to a safari park a hundred clicks distant and take the hire car into the lions den. Hire cars can go anywhere! Again - there is a moment of utter fear when the baby - Declan - sitting in Mum's lap - accidentally opens the passenger door of the car just as I've come to a halt slap bang next to the really big angry looking bear a foot from said passenger door. "Bing Bing Bing Bing" alarms in the car, Declan claps his hands wildly at the big angry bear staring at us. The kids in the back smack each other in the head with McDonalds balloons and a tiny red light in the Ford C-Max tells me "La porte - la porte!". Holy crap - the baby's just opened the door in the bear enclosure!
Luckily - the bear hasn't become quite attuned enough to "open door alarms" and he misses his opporunity for a full and fresh dinner.
From then on - I let declan sit on my lap and drive through the lion enclosure. It is clearly - a much safer option.
And then - as quickly as the holiday began. We are back home in Blighty. Well - except for my wife's phone - lost randomly in the passport entry queue at Manchester airport. We get back just in time to watch the world's crappest match of football ever. My friends ask - where is Algeria? North Africa. But the real question is - where were England. Where exactly?
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