God, I hate ferries. Whoever invented such a vile behemoth should be hung, drawn, quartered and have their bikini line waxed by toddlers. After surviving four hours in the cars (we had two to bring back) with a child each (I got #1, so we discussed everything from how much money he’ll be earning in the RAF to why priests don’t get married), we finally arrived to find that the crossing was being listed as ‘moderate to heavy seas’ uh oh.
#1 and I would both qualify for the Olympics if vomiting were a recognised event, so we both stuffed down a travel sickness pill and headed gingerly for the car decks, closely followed by Hubby and #2. Everyone was quite perky until the Captain came on and mentioned that the first 40 minutes especially were going to be a bit of a challenge, then as we started to be hurled about as soon as we left port, it all went a bit quiet. Well, it was two hours of absolute horror. People were scattered about the boat, feebly holding their sick bags up to their pasty green faces, and one little girl was actually sick right next to #2. As he came back up to tell us about it, all of a sudden the memory seemed to tip him over the edge and he threw up too. Ew, I tell you, it was ghastly. I’ve never been so glad to be told to go back and get in my car. Even Hubby looked a bit green. I have to say, though, those travel sickness tablets did at least partially work - they didn’t completely stop the nausea, but at least we weren’t joining #2 with the sick bags. We all just concentrated on keeping our heads still (apparently that’s half the battle) and looking out at the waves. I didn’t even get to go in the shop. And they sell Clarins - see, it really was bad.
Still, we perked up when we finally touched Irish soil again (resisting the temptation to jump out of the car and prostrate ourselves on the gravel) and a scary hour trying to follow Hubby as he zigzagged through the Dublin traffic seemed tame in comparison to the trip. Once home, we discovered that emptying the fridge, but then forgetting to empty the kitchen bin is a really bad idea when you go away for a couple of weeks, but apart from the lingering stench of two week old broccoli, there were no major disasters. Talking of disasters, we’re picking up Bertie later, then it really will feel like home.
I’m one of those strange people who sit outside during thunderstorms, would sell my mother to chase a tornado, and who finds sailing on rough seas invigorating.
That said, I’d hurl if I looked down while standing on a 30′ ladder.
Comment by Steve — July 26, 2007 @ 4:20 pm
Comment by Administrator — July 27, 2007 @ 9:47 am
Comment by Isitjustme? — July 27, 2007 @ 10:50 am
Comment by Administrator — July 27, 2007 @ 5:53 pm
Comment by Isitjustme? — July 27, 2007 @ 6:08 pm