We woke up to sunshine on day 2…
Today was the only ‘full’ family day we would all have together, as the next day would be taken up with our men abandoning us to visit Bike Park Wales.
We had a yummy breakfast of bacon and egg sarnies but there was one major issue with breakfast…
The yellow jacket clad tossers were out in force at our campsite and I was as pissed off with them as a TOWIE cast member is when they run out of teeth whitener.
Luckily, our friends had bought a tennis bat type, wasp torture, contraption which had electric rods running across it. It was called, ‘The Exterminator’ – *terminator voice*.
Basically, you press a button when you are near a wasp, this electrifies the metal rods and you electrocute the wasp. Pleasant eh?!
Now, I promise you I would never use this thing on anything other than Wasps and Mosquitoes, but my word it was therapeutic.
“Buzzzzzzzzz”, you would hear one next to your ear as you’re about to sip your cup of tea.
“Buzzzzzz”. You’ll swat it as a warning that this invasion of space is unacceptable.
It goes away, then two seconds later, it’s back again. But this time, with a couple of his mates as backup.
“Buzzzzzzz”, in my ear again causing me to spill some tea.
Right you little bastards, it’s time to meet your maker.
“Where’s the bat?” I announce in my best, ‘it’s on like Donkey Kong’, ‘I mean business’, voice.
I am handed ‘The Exterminator’ and I push the button on it to begin, ‘Operation Wasp Wack’.
I chase the little shits with the bat and feel a sense of sadistic joy when one sparks off the bat and dies. Then I get his mate, and then another one. Everyone has a go with the bat of extermination over the course of the holiday to try and rid us of the stripey flying feckers, as well as my friend setting up a wasp trap using an old juice bottle and some neat squash as bait. It did the trick, but the exterminator was definitely required to try and keep on top of things.
Anyhow, after feeling rather pleased with ourselves that we were staying on top of the wasp invasion, we must’ve let our guard slip.
My other half was sat down, a little bit forwards on his camping chair and must have had his shorts revealing his bottom a bit at the top, you know, like when you have that pair of jeans on that are really comfy but your butt does a David Copperfield and escapes out of them whenever you bend over. That.
He sits there chatting then all of a sudden…
“Argh! Shit! I’ve been stung!”
He leaps off his camping chair (I’ve never seen him move so fast. No really, I haven’t…) and holds his left buttock.
“It got me! The little f*cker got me!!!!”
Me, hand on mouth, stifling a mixture of a hysterical laugh and a concerned face, offers to take a peek and see how bad the damage is. The things we do for love…
He reveals a rather red butt cheek and is wincing in agony, in between swearing. I wet some kitchen towel and tell him to put it on there and I check he’s feeling ok because he hasn’t ever been stung by anything up until this point in his life. Luckily for us all, it turns out he’s not allergic to wasp stings and it just left him with a bit of a prick on his posterior, a dent in his male ego and a red mark on his butt cheek.
Major crisis averted, but now I am faced with an even more grumpy than usual husband for the day.
After the excitement of the wasp sting, it was decided that we would go out for the day and back to a beach we went to the previous year, it was a stunner to be fair, called Rhossilli Bay. It is an enormous beach which stretches out below you when you look at it from the clifftops above, a sight to behold. The only trouble is…getting down to it. Oh, and then back up again…
I took this photo from the top of the path which you have to walk down.
My husband decided it would be a good idea to hire the kids some wet-suits and body boards, and himself a surf board for the day, which is lovely, except we had to get that stuff, plus the usual beach crap, down to the beach.
We loaded the kids up as much as we could and then loaded ourselves up like mules. I also had to walk the toddler down so needed at least one free hand to help steady the miniature drunkard.
It took about 10 minutes to walk down but it is totally worth it once you are there. (Do bear this in mind if you have pushchairs or wheelchairs as access with these is not currently available).
Miles of golden sand, hills that appear to roll into the sea, shipwrecks on the beach, caves to explore, rock pools to investigate, waves to surf and play in, it’s the perfect beach base for the day. Oh, apart from the walk down and up…did I mention that?! 😉
(Note: If you’re a national trust member, you can park in the car park there free of charge).
We spend the day, once again, scoffing crap picnic food, paddling, surfing, body boarding (sadly not me however, I was on toddler watch), sandcastle building, rock pool swimming and cave exploring. Fun was had by all and even my husband, King Itchy Butt, had a nice day.
After finishing at the beach, involving me and my friends husband having to do two, yes two, journeys up the cliffs so we could return the hire kit before closing time before returning back down to collect our own gubbins to take back home, we reward ourselves with an ice cream.
I have to tell you all this Ice Cream man was THE BEST ice cream man I have EVER seen. The guy had a kind of tardis Ice Cream van and, you name it, he had it. Ice lollies, ice creams, slushies, ice cream sundaes, the whole lot. He was epic and I was as excited as the kids were.
I plumped for a Turkish delight Ice Cream Sundae, my husband went for a chocolate orange sundae and the kids all went for a e-number filled bubblegum sundae offering.
Nom, nom, nom. The stuff of seaside holiday dreams people.
“Honey! Get my fat pants out! I’m having ice cream!”
We head to a pub for a quick drink before then going back to the campsite to do a BBQ. We do the usual sausages and burgers and then we get the big guns out…Marshmallows.
The kids, ok, and the adults, loved toasting the marshmallows over the hot coals. There’s something truly happiness inducing and brilliant about a toasted marshmallow.
Smiles all round.
That, followed by hot chocolates at sunset, are what childhood memories are made of in my eyes.
Bedtime comes around again, and after the saga of the night before, my husband goes in with the angelically peaceful sleeper (our middle one) and I get the toddler for the night. The husband appears all smug that we have swapped kids, in the hope that he will get a super night’s sleep. Turns out, karma is a bitch and on top of his pricked bottom, he had a terrible night because our normally well behaved middle one had a bit of a restless night and windmilled himself around their air bed for the night. Oopsie… 😉
The toddler however, slept like a, well, baby! Whoop!
Tune in for day 3 tomorrow…