Snails, Saunas and Waterfalls

So it's Thursday again and that can only mean one thing - it's time to pop over and visit The Lounge.  This week it's being hosted by Rachel at The Very Inappropriate Blog and the topic this week is Travel Tales.

Now I have plenty to say on that matter (and most others if i'm perfectly honest ;).  I did consider telling the story of Maggie's hen week in Symi and why exactly she had a roll of parcel tape in her bag and what Jenny did with it but time is short - I have (as Slapdash Mama would say) too much on my mind and not enough brain to deal with it all so I've dug through the archives and I bring you the story of my honeymoon:

As you may have realised, my family is a ‘little’ accident prone and sadly my children have inherited it from BOTH sides.

Most of my own personal mishaps I blame on Maggie.  Not because it’s necessarily her fault but just because I can.

My Fat Foot

I do this to such an extent that when I posted the photo of My Fat Foot on FB Maggie asked, ‘is it my fault?’  Well, no Maggie, I own that in this instance we were in fact in different counties so it probably wasnt.

It WAS Maggie’s fault I snapped my kneecap though!  Yes, I was a little the worse for wear and YES I was trying to see if I could put my foot on someone’s shoulder (something that should only be done either in a horizontal position or with someone considerably shorter than the person in question!) BUT, it was Maggie’s fault for leaving me and my alter ego unattended.

It wasn’t Maggie’s fault I ended up in A&E with a broken fingernail either  (I lie not!) as it was before I knew her.

I would have blamed Maggie for my black eye had not half the office seen me pick up the phone and smack myself in the face with it.  Bad enough but then, in a state of disorientation I compounded my foolishness by answering it and saying ‘hello, can you help me?’

Mr Mac, now I’ve been thinking about that title ever since lovely, lovely C mistyped his name in a text and referred to him as Lack and I’ve decided that as my ex he should be rechristened, I shall therefore, from now on, be calling him Ex Lax, a singularly appropriate title as all those in the know would agree.

Anyway, Ex Lax is the pass master of the ridiculous accident and in his line of work (tree surgery) he has plenty of scope for making a prat of himself.


Forget to clip in securely?  Yep, you’re going to end up upside down suspended from a foot strop 20 foot up a Scots Pine. Misjudge the weight ratio on the pulling rope you might just take out a green house a Ford Fiesta and a water butt.  Leave the safety lock off your chainsaw, expect to say bye bye to your gonads (little bit of wishful thinking going on there)

His best effort were saved for the home though and the dreaded DIY.  Yes he had all the tools of the trade,    but the best tools in the world do not a workman make.  To be fair (and I always am J) he was a tryer.

He fitted a kitchen with a little help from yours truly, our transvestite plumber (Nikki), the transvestite plumbers standard poodle and our mate Pete and only broke his nose once (his own, not Pete’s).

He put in a bathroom with a little help from yours truly, our transvestite plumber (Nikki), the transvestite plumbers standard poodle and our mate Pete and only over tightened ONE little joint on a pipe, ok, that DID result in the flooding (with hot water) of the entire downstairs but that’s just details.

He did help to put in the central heating with a little help from yours truly, our transvestite plumber (Nikki), the transvestite plumbers standard poodle and only put one little nail through one little pipe when re-laying the floorboards, shame it was in the room above the brand new boiler we’d just had installed in the Kitchen ……..

He did cut to size and put up the wooden blinds I wanted in the bay window and only dropped one piece of wood onto the sill of the new windows we’d just had installed taking a huge chunk out of it.

He did put new doors on the under stairs cupboard, ok, due to some feat of science that I’ve never understood neither door opens to more than a 30 degree angle but then, I doubt I could have done better myself (although the transvestite plumbers dog just might have been able to).

The thing is, he did give it a go and I do have a certain amount of respect for him because of that (not to mention a trashed house hmmmm).

I think my favourite Ex Lax mishap was on our honeymoon.  Some of you may have read the tale of our wedding day in A Right Royal Affair.

The story continued in the Lake District, our chosen destination for a few days of newly wedded bliss.  Ex Lax had chosen the hotel based on the fact that it came with its very own waterfall.  It wasn’t my first choice but I’m a bit of a people pleaser and I’m usually happy enough to go along with what everyone else wants if I don’t have strong objections.

The hotel was, as described on the website, within spitting distance of Derwent Water one of the beautiful lakes.  The description of ‘hotel’ though I had to question. Within a few minutes it was pretty obvious that it was in fact a nursing home for the incontinent! ‘Would you like to take coffee in the lounge madam?’ Sugar, milk, urine soaked chair?

The hotel also boasted that many of its rooms had beautiful views overlooking the lakes.  To that end I had rung to confirm out booking 7 times just so I could drop in the fact that we were on honeymoon and would love a lake view.

We got a view over the flat roof of the kitchen complete with extraction pipe and over to the car park and dustbins! There was a strange metal loop attached to the floor next to the bed which I immediately stubbed my toe on, no idea what it was for, possibly for ease of access to under the floorboards in case they wanted to stow a body.

My initial thought was that it WOULD explain the really rather unpleasant odour in the room.  It wasn’t me, it wasn’t even ex lax. It didn’t turn out to be bodies under the floorboards either.

It DID turn out to be the leaky soil pipe that fed the whole floor and ran through the built in cupboard under the window INSIDE our room!  The amount of shit generated by the whole hotel also produced (as a by product)  huge quantities of heat so the room was boiling hot as well as smelly.

Now Ex Lax had a peculiarity. He liked to see if he could fit into small spaces. Ignoring the heat, the smell of shit and the view of the car park, his eyes lit up at the sight of the whole wall of built in cupboards which included a small shoe cupboard at the bottom.  Carefully he backed into it (and yes, I DO have photographic evidence if I can ever work out how to get photos off the camera and onto the computer).  All would have been ok if the built in cupboard had actually been BUILT IN!!! After spending a little time firmly wedged in the cupboard Ex Lax decided it was time to explore further afield and attempted to slide out, but hmmmm, the whole of the damn unit came with him!  I wasn’t fixed to the sodding wall!!!  I had visions of us travelling the Lake District, him, and his very own home on his back like a bloody MDF crazed snail!

Fortunately with a little pushing and pulling on my part the two were separated.

Ok, we were now 20 minutes into our dream honeymoon and Ex Lax decided to go off and take a look at the waterfall while I unpacked.

10 minutes later there was a knock at the door.  I opened it to be confronted with Ex Lax, his face ashen, blood dripping on the floor from his mangled hand.  He’d only gone and fallen down the fucking waterfall!

He spent the first night of our honeymoon on the sofa with his hand in the ice bucket along with the champagne that neither of us really felt like drinking, sweating like a pig in a shit filled sauna.