I haven’t blogged in ages (notice how most of my posts state this?) so I thought I’d do a little catch up post just so you all know I’m alive (after recent encounters I thank my lucky stars for this) and still attempting to blog.
I do have excuses for my absence. I’ve endured ten rather disappointing days in Turkey stranded beside a plastic fantastic poolside, complete with screeching children, industrial food and a whole host of Jeremy Kyle show-esque characters. Hell on earth my friends. I know I sound beyond miserable ( I do enjoy a bit of negativity) but oh my gosh, somebody tell me, where is the enjoyment in sitting on a stiff sun lounger for six hours solid, sweating like a pig on thanks giving beneath a scorching sun while being attacked by a mini army of mosquitoes?! Give me an iced coffee, a little rain shower and an episode of Eastenders over that any day. Maybe this type of holiday would have been more enjoyable had I had some company capable of rubbing two brain cells together but, instead I was surrounded by holiday makers who seemed to have learnt the English language from a different dictionary to myself, one that lacked the letter ‘t’ and included some rather repulsive words. By day two I had acquired a second knee on my right leg due to a hideously inflamed mosquito bite, a vile rash on my left arm courtesy of my florescent orange ‘all inclusive’ band (let me tell you, that tacky disgrace was ripped off after 48 hours of shame) and I was reduced to crying silent tears of despair beneath my sunglasses (not that I’m one to over dramatize a situation, obviously.)
However, the worst part of this holiday had to be the day I made the grave mistake of visiting the local market. I was shuffling along behind crowds of people, who are evidently yet to discover the quirks of a stick of Dove deodorant, and desperately trying to keep up with my mum who was, most probably, attempting to loose me when I felt a set of fingers twisting around my upper arm. I turned around to be greeted with one of the creepiest faces I’ve known a man to own (a discovery that set alarms bell ringing straight away). He stood still for around 30 seconds with my arm still in tow and I began to wonder if he was ever going to speak or if I’d managed to paralyse him with the shock of my ugliness. Finally, he whispered in one of those voices that belong in horror movies and horror movies alone ‘are you from paradise?’. Oh dear, somebody needs a trip to the Turkish equivalent of Specsavers. I explained that no I wasn’t and I must get going because my mum was still storming off and I was quickly losing sight of her, but he didn’t care much for my request and before I know it my other arm is being held by a companion of his. By now I was starting to lose my humorous stance on the situation and I could feel hot tears building up behind my eyes at the thought of my year 7 school photo being published all over the news above a ‘missing, possibly stolen’ type headline. It was when they started talk of going back to their apartment that I was getting somewhat desperate and tried to pull myself away but with little success as even my 9 year old brother possesses more strength than me. After 5 minutes of them asking me some rather, erm, personal questions (which I did not answer for the record) I realised that now was not the time to consider dignity and thus began my desperate screeches of ‘MUM’ at the top of my voice. Did she hear? Oh no, don’t be stupid. She was too busy god know where in the market, pondering over the disgusting act of counterfeiting designer goods than to worry about little old me being held hostage by two foreign men who had the same level of personal hygiene as my dog. This screeching went on for around two minutes and astonishingly nobody seemed to think that the 16 year old girl crying for help in the middle of the market was abnormal and so left me to it. To my utter relief I noticed our holiday rep approaching from the distance as he had been stirred my desperate cries on despair (nice of somebody to notice). He began to explain to my capturers that actually you know, grabbing teenage girls is kind of frowned upon and could land them in a bit of trouble and all that. You don’t say?! Reluctantly they let me go leaving me standing awkwardly besides my saviour who was evidently panicking like mad at the concept of having to comfort a distraught 16 year old girl. This served a very uncomfortable 10 minutes as he helped me search for my mum. Eventually we found her pondering over what anklet matched the colour on her toe nails better, she looked slightly relieved to see me still alive and everything and after being nice about the situation for a whole 2 minutes she looked at me and announced ‘Tessa, you really should stop walking off like that.’ Oh my fucking god.
So to conclude, I hate holidaying with the family because every year I’m left trailing behind in a bored trance while my family continue on like I don’t exist. Anybody else had any similar holiday experiences or am I the only one who prefers rainy England over being stuck so closely to the parents for ten days? Let me know!
& good luck to anybody who’s getting results tomorrow!