every year as a child without fail the whole family would pack into dads invariably sh1t car, for a week of fun and botulism on the east coast. as the day approached, dad would become more and more tense at the thought of having to spend a whole week with us and would, by D Day be a barely controlled bundle of nerves and unspent aggression but seeing as mum packed the cases got the three of us kids ready, got dad ready, made the packed lunches for the trip (it took f*cking hours to get there in dads jallopy) checked the booking in the chalet, withdrawn the money from the post office account .. i'm not sure what his problem was. anyway i forget exactly which year it was but dad was driving an old rover 3500 he'd bought off a paddy in the pub it was 2 parts rust one part oil leak and steam and 1 part car, and he'd borrowed a roof rack off a mate ... also in the pub and fitted it himself ... big mistake my dad is not the most practical of chaps. so, half way to St. Osyth between braintree and marks tey theres a lurch and this f*cking roof rack starts to head west on its own... dad pulled over with barely concealed and simmering fury and i could see the vein ticking in his forehead. he stomped around to the boot and got out his tow rope and proceeded to lash this stupid overladen roof rack to the top of the car. my mum (a saint bless her) looked over at him and said "er ......John" "shut up Kathy i'm busy hen" "but .... john" "Kathy SHUT UP i'm tying this thing on" "but.." "SHUT THE F*CK UP WOMAN.... AND KEEP THOSE F*CKING KIDS UNDER CONTROL" (i was trying to stick my action man up my brothers nose and my sister had smeared a banana into her hair) so mum pulled her famous "cats bum mouth" which if the muscle power to pucker lips that tight could be harnessed could power a small village in cumbria ... folded her arms and faced her front in steely silence much huffing puffing and half hitches later the job was completed and the roof rack was secure in fact i doubted anyone could ever unpick the knots my old man had put in this rope. at this point he went to rejoin his loving family and continue on his journey to our destination the dozy c-unt had tied it through the open windows of both doors and couldn't get in more fuming, shouting swearing threatening swearing kicking of inanimate objects gnashing of teeth and swearing as only a glaswegian in a fury can and he had to climb in the car like a middle aged Bo Duke we sat in silence for the rest of the journey. apart from the odd snigger from the back. Do you remember those early family holidays .... why did they do it????????????????