First of the Holiday!

2006-04-08, 9:10 p.m.
So, here I am then, updating in my holiday cottage in sunny Cornwall! Of course, by the time you get this I�ll be back home, but you get the general drift!

We started as we meant to go on, on Friday night, by getting jolly wasted back at the Palace of Many Sins. I�d spent the day at Twat Inc trying to provide a professional and comprehensive handover for Slave so she wouldn�t have anything to trouble her whilst I was away, but then at 5 o�clock all hell let loose. Something I�d been working on for a couple of weeks and which seemed to all be going swimmingly, suddenly al turned to rat-shit within the space of two minutes. I phoned BF and told him I might be late and set to work � a crisis meeting with Army Boy and a couple of frantic phone calls to the Field Rep and the Warehouse Manager and we were kind of back on schedule, but I�ve got a sneaky suspicion that all will not be well when I get back. I�ve left Slave to write the letter of abject apology which will be needed to sort the whole sorry mess, but I still might end up with a small-scale carpeting when I get back, especially as the initial cock-up was mine and mine alone. I did hold my hand up to it straight away which I think will have gone some way to slow down my trial and ultimate execution, but we�ll see�..

When I got in, BF started bombarding me with holiday based questions so I just said, �Look, I need a cigarette rolled, a glass of whisky and a wee. Please handle as many of those as you can while I go and deal with the ones you don�t think you can manage.�

Anyway, it was all downhill from there � we went pretty much straight to the pub and then back home for a Chinese takeaway. Sadly, by then I was too bollocksed to enjoy it and just vegged on the sofa until bedtime. Conjugal rights were totally out of the equation as even closing my eyes and pulling up the duvet just seemed like too much effort.

Saturday morning (with requisite hangover) I started packing. Jooj came home around 11 and by then I�d managed to just pile up a load of clothes on the landing and yell at BF a bit. Jooj helped quite a lot, especially as I told her as soon as she got in that we were going on holiday � something I�d managed to keep from both girls for the whole week since I�d decided to go.

Once the car was loaded with all the necessary items (2 guitars, mobile recording studio, case of beer�.oh, and a few clothes) we set off to pick Treacle up from a party in WifeSwapVille. As far as I can remember, the party invite said �Princesses and Fairies� but when I got to the address where Shagnasty had dropped off my baby-girl earlier in the morning I realised I must have been mistaken. Admittedly, all the other little girls were dressed as fairies and princesses but Treacle had obviously read some kind of small print and was dressed as some kind of Variety Act from one of the seedier parts of Fairyland. Glittery crop-top, �petal� mini skirt, high heeled sandals and a tiara. Oh, and wings. Her father, in a nod to the inclement weather, had thoughtfully insisted that she wear a pair of pink woolly tights underneath the skirt, but as she was still pretty much naked apart from the tights, and was wearing her best spaced out rocker dudette hair-do, there was more than the hint of �Fairy Land Pole Dancer� about her.

Got her changed into tracksuit trousers and sweatshirt in the car � its astonishing how quick you can get a six year old out of a party venue if you say �Hurry up Treacle, we�re going on holiday. Yes. Now. Right Now. Yes, Jooj and BF are coming too.� You should try it � it works much better than �Hurry up, mumma�s got a hair appointment�, or �Get a move on, I need to get to Tesc0�.

Anyway, the drive down to Cornwall was much easier than expected, we were settling into our holiday cottage by five in the afternoon. I have to say, the Holiday Village, being brand spanking new is a bit of an oddity. Nothing you an really put your finger on as its all clean, and quiet and peaceful and everything a holiday village should be, but its like Starter-Home Land.
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Or�..OMG��Stepford! Horror of horrors, its also pretty much totally non-smoking so we have been hanging out of the stable doors and wafting the tea towel a bit. There are instructions everywhere politely pointing out what are, or are not, acceptable behavioural patterns and we�ve done pretty well so far in sticking to the instructions. As we were exploring our cottage we noticed a helpful instruction for anyone not quite sure what they were supposed to do after lights out. Mercifully it was painted on the road outside our cottage so we could see it from the bedroom window.
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We�ve been doing our level best to stick to the (let�s face it � pretty conclusive) instructions at every given opportunity.
The evening of our first day here, we were visited by our very good friends Tom and Tam who live nearby in Penz@nce. They are good, good friends and sadly, the poorest people we know. Poorer even than us. Tom, despite being one of the finest exponents of original Delta Blues slide guitar in the world, scratches a living as a busker and Tam, when she�s not making the most beautiful and extravagant greetings cards, (which take too long to make and are too perfect to ever be commercially viable) packs stuff into boxes in a warehouse where the employees aren�t allowed to speak while they�re working. I kid you not.

When we first met them, they lived on a barge. More recently, they have been living in a caravan, in a field, with intermittent electricity and water that has to be hauled across the field in a big container. They are currently living with Tam�s mum (who is, bizarrely, married to Tom�s dad � don�t worry, they didn�t even know each other before Tom and Tam got married) while they wait for a flat to become available. The flat they want is above an off licence. If I were waiting for a flat, Id like it to be above an off licence too.

Naturally we took them out to dinner. We didn�t intend to, but their faces, whispered conversations and counting of loose change while we were looking at the menus just did it for me Im afraid and BF was instructed to put his hands in his pockets and charge it to Dear Mr Visa. We�ll work out how we�re going to pay it off later. Hell, the whole bill for the six of us was only �56. Back at the cottage we sent the kids to bed and got the guitars out. Tom got very drunk on my whisky, which made it even more irritating that he was still able to play fabulous slide guitar and much better harmonica than I can do, even when Im sober.

He then took one of BFs fabulously expensive guitars and showed him how to turn it into some kind of ersatz slide guitar with the aid of a piece of skanky old plastic slipped under the strings and clamped on with a knackered old capo. BF was cringing and fussing and fretting that something REAL BAD was going to happen but the end result was impressive enough for me to get a picture.
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Tom plays the home-made slide guitar!
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And BF has a go on Tom's 76 year old National!

As the evening progressed, Tom and BF got stuck into the beers and, in the time honoured fashion, began to talk bollocks. Mercifully, I had prudently packed the Bullshit Baffles which Tam and I donned pretty sharpish. Thus we were able to retain our composure and look like we were enthralled by their drivel, whilst all the while taking no notice whatsoever. (The picture comes from a previous drinking and bollocks evening, but the sentiment was just the same.)
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Yours truly and Mrs Tam Dale - oblivious to bullshit!

Im proud to say that the best �Tom and Tam� story that I have was something that happened in The Palace of Many Sins just last week, on the night of the Big Gig. When we got back from the theatre we started a-drinkin and a-raisin hell until Tom started making some strange noises like the sort people make when they�re about to be violently sick. As the kitchen table at which we were sat was laden with food and drinks and other paraphernalia, it wouldn�t have been the best of things to have everything suddenly blanketed in vomit. Ever resourceful, Tam emptied out a box of liqueur chocolates and gave Tom the box. As it was only about five inches square, I had my doubts that it would fully contain the imminent effluvia. I was shrieking �Tom! Tom! Ferchristsake, get in the bathroom man!� but then, he took a deep breath and said �Its OK, Im fine� before making the sort of noise that cat owners will know only too well and which usually means that someone�s going to have to wash the duvet cover. Meanwhile, Tam is sitting benignly by Tom�s side, totally unfazed by the retching and �Hbwuh, Hbwhuhhh� noises Tom was making. BF and I had scattered to the far side of the kitchen and I had resigned myself, as the only person even remotely close to sober, to spending the end of the evening clearing up a Blues Legend�s vomit from my midnight buffet.

As any fool knows, it is pretty much impossible to not puke once one has embarked on the sort of peristaltic rush which is all too common after a night on the beer and a couple of large joints. Im sure Im not alone in TRYING soooo hard to hold in a puke, only to have it squirt geyser-like through one�s fingers wayyyy before one has managed to get as far as the lavatory. Then, of course, one has to go finish the puke in the bathroom, with the whole experience totally marred by the certain knowledge that when the puking is finished and you are feeling much better thank you, that you�ll have to go back out into the hallway/bedroom/party/whatever and scrub up the bits which are making it look like Jackson Pollock does your interior decorating.

Miraculously, after a couple of Zen-like deep breaths and mild throat-clearing, harmony was restored. Tom recommenced his drinking binge, even before BF and I had the courage to resume our places at the table. We sat down, remarking on Tom�s astonishing ability to not puke. �Ah�, says Tam, �I knew he�d be alright. He has Incredible Vomit Control.�

Later

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