Most people like to splash out on holidays, go the extra mile, really push the boat out. My family certainly pushed a boat out, but not the metaphorical one I was hoping for.
Friday morning, all of my things had been packed, and I was sitting on my bed drying my hair like a girl as I did every day, preparing for the excitement and thrills that can be had in sunny Wales. Don't get me wrong, I love Wales to pieces, it's about as close you can get to being in England without actually being in England, and I do love England. What I don't love, however, is spending my valuable week off with my parents in a drizzly carbon copy of the country I come from in an area where the person closest to my age not directly related to me was a aged sheepdog with arthritis. The time when I go on holiday is one of the only times when I actually feel and act my age, spending the rest of my days behaving like someone twice my age, so I feel like I want to go out and really enjoy myself as an eighteen year old should, and this becomes very difficult in a tiny little village with a name I still fail to pronounce (how on Earth would you pronounce 'Llangors'?). The two pubs the village held were full of ancient Welsh folk with fewer teeth than they had eyes, apart from the one girl I recognised as being around my age, who looked like she had just finished her shift at the local brothel, which was sadly non-existent.
The place we stayed was very nice I have to admit, and if I was pushed for an answer I would agree that I enjoyed my holiday. I probably would have enjoyed it more if I had had a little more privacy from my elder brother and his friend (I still don't understand why she was there) at night. I used to find it difficult to sleep without someone in the room, but when you've spent so long on your own, it's difficult to fall into a pleasant slumber with someone else in the room.* Now back to my boat reference.
The best part of the holiday was probably the lake that was only a stone's throw away from where we were staying. Admittedly it was a far stretched stone that had to have landed on a car and then carried the extra miles to the shore, but a stone's throw nonetheless. It truly was a gorgeous expanse of clear (ish) water perfect for rowing on. Now you're beginning to see where the boat comes in. Unfortunately, the boat I was in was being shared by my brother and his friend, who I had only properly met the day before. We've been rowing before, my brother and I, and it has always been a great sibling bonding session of brotherly relations, proper man stuff. Throw a woman into the equation and it quickly becomes three people desperately trying to keep themselves entertained for forty minutes. The phrase 'two's company, three's a crowd' has never been more relevant.
To sum up, let me give you some advice about Wales:
Only go there if you're going on your own or with friends and one of you possesses the ability to get you to a half-decent public house. If this is not the case, cancel your plans immediately and sit alone for a week drinking yourself into a coma. You'll save money for next year when you can spend it on a decent holiday without your family-orientated baggage.
*Providing you're not diddling them behind everyone's back
