Reasons I Hate Summer: Holidays

Holidays are all about unpredictability and unfamiliarity – two things that I don’t do well with because I’m autistic, innit. I’ve never got what all the fuss is about! There’s also the sensory issue of sand in EVERY crevice which turns bum (and flap) wiping into a hazardous experience, no?

Then there’s the flock of seagulls. Not the 80s pop group with questionable hair-dos. I mean beaky bastards that crap on your hair and steal your chips!

Give me your f **king chips!

Is it me, or are seagulls a lot more feisty than they used to be? Maybe they’ve watched too many Steven Seagull movies? Geddit?

Anyhoo, I remember childhood holidays – at least, I remember a few. I don’t think we went every year. That was probably because we couldn’t afford to or maybe I’ve blocked a few out? Of those that are etched into my memory, I remember the entire family cramming into musty-smelling caravans with daddy-long-legs the size of Brazil and being made to strip off on the beach as apparently it wasn’t socially acceptable to wear your coat? As any misfit will tell you – coats are not just an outer layer of clothing – they are armour and it matters not that it’s 30 degrees in the shade and every other kid is running around in swimsuits and shorts!

Then there was the stress of having to choose which Enid Blyton’s to pack into my little suitcase, because as Dad used to say, ‘It’s a car, not the bloody tardis!’

My misery was reflected in the photographs that flopped through the letterbox about a month later. Photographs of me scowling and me giving the thumbs down and me being a generally miserable tw@t. In contrast, there was Dad – smiling, laughing and working his arse off trying to cheer me up.

I’m sorry, Dad. You worked hard all year. You deserved a nice holiday. I wish I had made more of an effort. 😦

To be fair, my eldest brother ruined at least one holiday because he was a teenager and teenagers are by default – arseholes.

I NEVER WANTED TO COME ON THIS STUPID HOLIDAY! YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE! I HATE YOU!

Once I became a parent myself, I understood the effort (and money) my parents had put into our holidays. My stress levels increased because being a parent means that you are responsible for others as well as yourself. Plus, it’s your job to make happy memories for your children. So I forced myself to ponce about on beaches with beach balls and stuff. Unfortuately, my performance anxiety came on holiday with me, so having a ‘fun’ game of cricket on the beach scored high on my shit-o-meter, especially when I fell over due to poor coordination!

If you’re my kind of autistic, you’re mostly you’re counting the hours until it’s time to go home.

I don’t enjoy holidays. I survive them.

One thing I do when I’m on holiday is to observe other people because they make holidaying look easy!

But there’s usually a drama or two and one year it involved a lifeguard diving into the swimming pool to rescue what turned out to be one of my kids!

There was me and the MIL partaking in a little poolside afternoon tea (might have been lager) while (then) husband was in the pool with the kids and somehow he managed to lose one. Of course, I was thankful that my little ‘Pwince’ had been rescued (and didn’t seem at all fazed by the experience) but it buggered the rest of the holiday up because, you know, people stare, point and say. ‘That’s them!‘.

Thankfully, it’s not always my family providing the drama..

One summer, when my eldest boys were younger, we went to one of those beaches you can park on. You just open the car-boot and unload your shit onto the sand. Fabulous, no? So, there I was, semi-relaxing in my chair. I had a classy plastic tumbler of warm cider and a racy Mills and Boon. (Blaze series). One of the kids was literally burying the other one in the sand. Textbook stuff. The alcohol had taken the edge off my anxiety. The weather was warm, but not hot. It was fairly pleasant.

My shit-o-meter was at a tolerable 3.

Then, a 4 x 4 rocks up, bringing with it a family of five and a dog. They also appeared to have brought their entire house with them – chairs, tables, parasols, wind-breakers, picnic, bats and balls – the works!

The woman got out of the car, stripped to her skimpy bikini and flopped onto a beach towel with a magazine. They had two younger kids (who were seconds away from killing each other) a psychotic dog and a Goth teenager who point-blank refused to get out of the car because the sun was out and they wanted to avoid exploding into a million bats. Obviously!

4 X 4 Man started out by carefully positioning stuff and each time he asked for some help with getting stuff out of the car, his family ignored him. Within fifteen minutes he was ramming things into the sand and beating the living crap out of the wind-breaker pegs with his beast of a mallet. (NOT a euphemism)

It was like watching David Banner turn into the Hulk.

As I recall, the straw that broke the camels back was when one of his kids kicked a ball and it hit him in the face.

4 X 4 man’s face went turned a funny colour.

Then, he completely and utterly lost it!

I’VE HAVE ENOUGH OF THIS SHIIIIIITT!

The kids went silent.

Goth Teen rolled the window up.

4 x 4 Man’s Mrs looked up from Catherine Zeta’s arse.

The dog started to bury itself.

4 X 4 Man jumped up Basil Fawlty style and started throwing everything into the back of the car – his language as colourful as his face. Five minutes (and numerous ‘SHITS later) he and his family were wheel-spinning across the sand towards the exit.

Wish You Were Here. Not.

You see, holidays are not all smiling faces and Beach Boys on the iPod.

My dream holiday would be me locked in a library for a week with a vending machine, a kettle and a huge box of teabags!

My experience in Amsterdam is that cyclists ride where the hell they like and aim in a state of rage at all pedestrians while ringing their bell loudly, the concept of avoiding people being foreign to them.

My dream holiday would be a) a ticket to Amsterdam b) immunity from prosecution and c) a baseball bat.”~ Terry Pratchett

Reasons I Hate Summer: Flies

Flies are evil b@st@rds. They are evil enough when there isn’t a heat wave, but extreme heat brings on a whole new level of evilness, no?

Bins stink. It’s part of being a bin, but the heat is making the bins extra-stinky and it’s attracting flies by the trillions. This wouldn’t be as much of a problem if my bins were at the end of a very long garden, but I live in a terraced house with a very small back-yard so my bins are well within whiffing distance – as are everybody else’s.

At this time of year there is always the danger of maggot infestations. Makes your skin crawl doesn’t it? Take it from one who knows: when you’ve battled the maggot-massive, you NEVER want to do it again!

Plus, it puts you off eating boiled rice. For ever.

You get me?

The fly is Ninja fast. You’ve opened and closed your bin lid in record time, but there’s always one who’s the Usian Bolt of the fly world. It’s flown in before you know it and if it’s a female, she’ll dump around 75-100 eggs onto the bags of rotting food. The next day, you wander out in your slippers with a bag full of potato peelings and you see that some tit has thrown loose rice in your bin. This isn’t your doing. You don’t throw food in the bin like her up the road. You’re posherer. You’re just about to throw a strop when you notice that the rice is ALIVE.

You’re torn between wanting to scream in horror and not wanting to draw attention to your BIN OF SHAME because having maggots is like having nits, as in, it can happen to anybody, but nobody wants to admit to it, right? Luckily for me, I’ve got a massive manhole. NOT a euphemism! I’m referring to the manhole in my back-yard which is indeed large enough to fit a man in should I ever need to conceal a body!

I am joking, of course.

Or am I?

Moving on..

Got a lil maggot problem? Chillax! (are people still saying that?) I have tips!

The Maggot Slaying Kit

  • A pair of Marigolds
  • Hot water
  • A massive bottle of industrial strength bleach
  • A brush that you’ll never want to use again
  • A bag to retch into

Don’t make the rookie mistake I did during the Great Maggot Infestation of 2015. I just hosed them down the drain. I didn’t kill them, innit? So some of them crawled up through the gaps in the flagstones and by ‘some’ I mean close on a hundred – all wriggling across my patio..

Maggots, EVERYWHERE!

For the Great Maggot Infestation of 2016, I was better prepared. I par-boiled the effers in the bin with a few shots of Domestos, then I swilled em down the drain.

Want to learn more about flies?

You know you do!

Fly Facts

1. Flies regurgitate digestive juices onto food so they can eat it. So if a fly lands on your quiche, it’s probably best to bin it. *boaks*

2. Rumour has it that flies do a poo EVERY time they land. (I’ll leave THAT one with you)

3. Flies are disease ridden arse-holes. Salmonella, E.coli. You name it, they spread it. For this reason, you should never leave food out uncovered. Not unless you want to defecate yourself dry?

4. Flies can walk upside down – coz they freakeh!

5. Flies have 360 degree vision (much like my mother) so they can see behind them. This would explain why the arseholes fly off whenever I creep up on them with a can of Raid.

6. Flies live for about 30 days, though their lifespans are shortened dramatically if they fly into my house.

7. Flies can lay up to 500 eggs in their lifetime – most of them in my bin.

8. Flies are agile and fast. That’s why you can drive yourself demented trying to swat the motherfunglers with a tea-towel.

9. Flies lay their eggs on rotting food and poo. Flies round shit, right? This is so that their offspring have something yummy to munch on when they hatch.

10. BRB – Gone to vomit.

Yo. Humanz. Am gonna crap on your Quiche!

So you see, there is much to despise about flies. Those buztards are bad news. That said, I do try to give them a fighting chance. I will open a window or a door, but if they don’t take the hint they get taken down with a tea-towel or a blast (or three) of Raid.

Meanwhile, here’s the question you’ve always wanted to know the answer to.

Why do flies do circles under your lampshade?

The flies patrol well-defined airspaces underneath landmarks like lampshades. … Male flies approach a landmark from below and, in the absence of other flies, settle to patrol an airspace close to the landmark. A second male approaching the same landmark chases, or is chased away by, the patrolling fly when it comes too close and may eventually settle to patrol 10–30 cm below the airspace occupied by the first fly. … The position of male patrolling stations relative to the landmark suggests that females might arrive at landmarks from the side (and not from below, as males do), thus crossing the dorsal visual field of patrolling males.

Source: Jochen Zeil. The territorial flight of male houseflies (Fannia canicularis L.) Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology. August 1986, Volume 19, Issue 3, pp 213-219

In simple terms, it’s blokes fighting over girls up town on a Saturday night, innit?

Fly Porn.

But enough of fly mating rituals. Back to fly annihilation, yes?

Prevention is key to keep maggots at bay, so here are some tips.

Fly Control Tips

The first step in fly control is exclusion and sanitation. If your house is a massive bin, and you like to have your windows open – YOU’RE GOING TO ATTRACT FLIES! However, even if you are shit-hot with sanitation and you’d rather drown in a pool of your own sweat than open a window, you will still get the odd fly who fancies its chances, so here’s what you can do.

  1. If you do find a fly in the house, try to entice it out of the window or door. Life is life, right?
  2. Failing the humane approach, confuse the shit out of it by using two rolled up newspapers instead of one.
  3. If that doesn’t work, give it a murderous blast of Raid.

Now, I am so fly-aware, those arsewipes don’t have time to shit, let alone reproduce!

I take no pleasure from being the fly-finder general. I think it’s sad to watch any living thing die, but we have to remember that flies are not cutsie kittens. Or fluffy wuffy gerbils. They are nefarious spreaders of disease. They will crap on your food and make the world fall out of your arse. Or they will drive you to the brink of insanity with their incessant BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZING. Plus they really know how to take the piss when it comes to picnics and BBQs. You get me?

Roll on Autumn, I say.