Back in September, my long-suffering ‘wife‘, Elle turned 39 years old.
39!!!!!
Why, that’s nearly 40……..
She’s proper old isn’t she!
Anyway, if you’re a regular reader of my blog, you may remember that due to being a cash strapped pauper, my crappy birthday gift to Elle consisted of some shit from a charity shop, a tenners worth of chocolate and some hand-made ‘vouchers’ for useless and unwanted bollocks.
Love In A Time Of Austerity (a.k.a – Happy Birthday Elle)
Fortunately, Elle did receive at least one decent gift on her ‘Austerity Birthday’.
Her big sister Mandy kindly purchased Elle a gift that ALL of the Davies family could enjoy.
Mandy purchased one of those Groupon/Wowcher type deals for an overnight stay in a hotel, including a family day out.
BRILLIANT!
Now….I’m going to provide you with a list of five possible choices to see if you can guess which trip we were subjected treated to.
1. An overnight stay at The Royal Hotel, Lake District including a trip to the Lakeland Cumberland Pencil Museum.
2. An overnight stay at The Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool including a trip to the Beatles Experience.
3. An overnight stay at The Crewe Arms Hotel, Crewe including a trip to the Monkey Forest.
4. An overnight stay at Satis House, Suffolk including a trip to the Adnams Brewery.
5. An overnight stay at The Christopher Hotel, Eton including a trip to Legoland.
I’ll give you 10 seconds to think of an answer……..
Yes! That’s right!……..It was trip number 3.
Number fucking three!
Crewe and Monkeys…….
Motherfucking Crewe and Monkeys……
Not a relaxing spa in sight.
Not a glass of champagne to be sipped.
No massages
No hot stone thingys on your back.
No gourmet food.
Bollocking Crewe and pissing around with primates in Stoke.
FOR FUCKS SAKE!
Wednesday 30th October:
Day one of our trip consisted of a journey ‘Oop North’.
I decided to use the time wisely and expand our ‘excursion’ to include a day in the picturesque City of Liverpool. If you’ve never been to Liverpool……it’s a bit like Paris…..
Paris has the Eiffel Tower…….Liverpool has The Liver Building.
Paris has Monmartre Cathedral……..Liverpool has Paddy’s Wigwam. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liverpool_Metropolitan_Cathedral)
Paris has the Louvre……..Liverpool has the Tate.
Paris is home to Chanel suits……..Liverpool is home to Shell suits.
You get the idea…….
So….the entire cast of ‘National Lampoon’s Trip to Monkey Forest’ piled in the car for a straightforward 2hr 30min drive up the M6 to Liverpool.
But…..of course…..we never do anything easily and our journey turned into a 4 hour stress filled rant-a-thon due to the inconsiderate twats from the Highways Agency!
On a daily basis, I drive up and down the M6 motorway dealing with all kinds of bell-ends who have decided that they want to drive too fast, too close, too slow, in the wrong lane, etc…..
I can deal with this level of stupidity…..after years of motorway driving, I no longer get angry at these situations…..because it’s a complete waste of energy.
However, what REALLY pisses me off is being stuck in traffic jams for ABSOLUTELY NO DISCERNIBLE REASON!
How come EVERY time I take some time off work, the Highways Agency decide to put into place some kind of ridiculous ‘traffic calming’ technique? Why the FUCK can’t they do it when I’m at work, the inconsiderate cocksuckers?
From the moment we hit Junction 10 of the M6, I swear to Christ that EVERY SINGLE fucking overhead matrix sign was illuminated with the words ‘QUEUE CAUTION’ and a speed limit of ’40’ which had the effect of grinding the traffic to a frustrating halt.
Then…..all of a sudden…..the overhead matrix would change to ’60’……and we’d all speed up again…..merrily going on our way…….until……another overhead sign says, ‘QUEUE CAUTION’, ’40’……WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKK…….aggggggghhhhhhhhhh!
All the way through Staffordshire, the fucking traffic was stop/start……there were NO traffic accidents……NO roadworks……and, more importantly, NO FUCKING REASON TO HAVE THE FUCKING MATRIX SIGNS ON AT ALL!
After 3 hours on the road, we’d still not reached Manchester and I was furious……Elle kindly passed me a Ham and coleslaw cob to cheer me up. As soon as I bit into the bread, a large squirt of coleslaw jizz shot across my man breasts like a scene from a gay porn film. As I sat in the traffic jam, covered in coleslaw cum and fuming in a motorway based rage……Elle dropped in the words, “Can we stop at the next services Rich. Bridie’s wet through her clothes onto the car seat“……..
FUCKING BRILLIANT!
Eventually, we arrived in Liverpool a bit stressed, but unharmed. We headed straight for the Southport area to see the Anthony Gormley Statue’s at Crosby Beach (http://sefton.gov.uk/default.aspx?page=6216). As our Edie got out of the car, I glanced over at the passenger seat where she’d been sitting…..it was COMPLETELY COVERED in smashed up crisps, bits of ham, breadcrumbs, sweet wrappers and little bits of chocolate which had smeared on the seat covers like little bits of shit. After such a frustrating journey I felt like making her lick up every last crumb……but, I resisted…..preferring instead to walk across a windswept beach in the drizzle to see some barnacle covered metal penises and talk to a bloke who dug up lugworms for a living.
Then, on the way back to the car, our Bridie decided to fall face first into a sandy puddle and ruin her 2nd set of clothes in the space of 2 hours.
FUCKING BRILLIANT!.
After Elle and I had consumed a nice hot cup of tea mixed with tears, and the kids had rubbed ice cream into their hair and clothes, I drove the Griswald Davies clan over to the Albert Dock for an afternoon of fun at the International Slavery Museum (http://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/ism/).
Strangely, neither Elle or Edie fancied the Slavery museum (why ever not?), so we went to the Tate Gallery instead for a bit of, how do you say, ‘CULTCHA’?
To be fair, this was the best part of the day.
Being a poncy artist, our Elle absolutely loved the three floors of exhibitions. Our Bridie was having a ball running riot around the £1,000,000 sculptures closely followed by nervous looking invigilators and Edie……well…..our Edie decided to retire to the media centre whilst we looked at the Jackson Pollacks and write a REALLY moody poem whilst wistfully looking out of the window into the docks below.
She presented me with the following piece of profound poetry when I went to collect her:
CORPSE by Edie Davies (Aged 8)
“The waves crash against the dock.
I stand next to you searching for an answer.
It’s like you’re a corpse.
Just you and me“.
“What do you think dad?”, Edie asked me with a serious look on her little face……
What the FUCK was I supposed to say? My daughter just handed me a piece of the DARKEST poetry imaginable……and she’s ONLY 8 years old!
I was both incredibly proud AND incredibly concerned all at the same time…….I gave her a big hug and said, “Wow Edie….that’s brilliant…..is everything ok…..I mean, it’s brilliant writing love……but do you need to talk to Mommy about anything?”
Edie looked up at me confused and replied, “Nahhhh…..I’m just really hungry…..can I have some fudge from the shop?”
PHEW!………crisis averted by the need for fudge.
We left the Tate, purchased some fudge, ate some overpriced pizzas in Pizza Express and headed over to the Crewe Arms Hotel in torrential rain.
On the way to the hotel, both Edie and Bridie fell asleep in the car……giving Elle and I an hour without ANY music or talking……it was sheer bliss.
At about 8pm, we arrived in Crewe…….I dutifully followed the Sat Nav and eventually saw a huge Victorian style hotel in the distance…..positioned directly across a busy main road and directly opposite the railway station.
It was the Crewe Arms Hotel…….and, as I squinted through the driving rain…..it occured to me that it had the appearance of one of those haunted mansions from a Scooby Doo cartoon.
I parked up, and Elle nipped inside to sort the room out whilst I stayed in the car with Edie and Bridie…….5 minutes later, Elle returned looking cross. “The bloody booking hasn’t gone through…..they haven’t got a room ready for us…..they’re going to sort one out for us, but it could take 20 minutes“.
So….Elle gently woke Edie up……and swaddled a sleeping Bridie up in her Dora the Explorer blanket and made her way back to reception to wait for the room to be prepared whilst I emptied the car in the driving rain.
Less than three minutes later, I entered the lobby of the hotel armed to the teeth with baggage……only to be greeted by our Bridie……who was now WIDE AWAKE and doing a little dance for me.
I slumped down into the leather settees and rested for a few minutes before clamping my eyes on the hotel bar…..”It’s been a right long day….do you fancy a pint?”, I said to Elle with a knowing wink.”
I think Elle replied, “I’ll have a pint of lager“…….but I was already standing at the bar ordering my drink before the words had time to leave her mouth.
I ordered a pint of Black Sheep cask ale and pint of Carling for Elle from a bar man who had about as much charisma as flesh eating zombie. I made my way back to reception, gave Elle her drink and sat down to savour the taste of a well deserved pint.
Sluuuuuuuuuurp………..”Uggggggghhhhhhhh, what the FUCK!”.
My pint tasted EXACTLY like malt vinegar……it was absolutely vile…….you could’ve easily put it on your chips.
I took it back to the flesh eating zombie who had to call his supervisor to verify the sourness of the beer before offering me a replacement pint of lager!
Eventually, we got up to our room which contained the following:
2 x Single beds, 1 x camp bed, 1 x travel cot (£5 supplement), 1 x small LCD TV with 8 working channels, 2 x hand towels, 2 x bath towels, 1 x toilet roll, a phone (unplugged) and a complimentary tea/coffee tray with no kettle.
I downed my pint and drew the curtains……only for them to instantly detach themselves from the plastic runner, meaning I had to climb up on the red-hot radiator to re-attach the hooks whilst showing the passers by on the High Street my cock and bollocks through the wide open window.
A very tired Edie changed into her pyjamas and jumped onto the camp bed…….which immediately snapped shut…..encapsualting her like a giant venus fly trap. I re-attached the wooden slats into the flimsy plastic holders on the camp bed……only for them to instantly snap…….leaving Edie’s arse dragging on the floor.
“Right!, I’m phoning downstairs to reception to complain”, I said as I picked up the phone…….only to realise that it wasn’t plugged into a socket. I then spent 15 minutes stomping around the bedroom in a strop because I couldn’t find the fucking phone socket to complain about my daughters inadequate sleeping arrangements.
BOLLOCKS!!!
I jumped off the bed and walked over to the camp bed……I tugged the mattress off the top in a fit of rage and threw the camp bed into the corner of the room followed by the loose bits of wood and any remaining blankets.
“RIGHT! Edie! You sleep in my bed…..I’ll sleep on the friggin’ floor.” It was about 9.30pm at this point…….we were ALL shattered……our Bridie was STILL awake and we were all incredibly pissed off.
I then spent the night on a 2″ mattress covered in a thin cotton sheet directly next to the worlds most scaldingist radiator which proceeded to burn my leg at every conceivable opportunity whilst listening to the sound of my 8 year old snore her head off and my 18 month old wake at 15 minute intervals to shout the words “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, ma, ma, mum, mummmmmm” and then cry for 10 minutes until she was picked up and cuddled.
FUCKING BRILLIANT!
Thursday 31st October:
After a night of little sleep set to a ratio of ‘maximum discomfort’, we grumpily made our way downstairs to the restaurant for our ‘all inclusive breakfast’.
In fairness to the Crewe Arms Hotel, what they lacked in terms of customer service, decor, beer quality, phones that worked and beds that stayed in one piece, they made up for with sausagey, bacony goodness. We circumnavigated the self-service buffet like a pack of pork obsessed vultures……and swooped one after the other to lay waste to the entire selection of fried goods.
Once fed and watered, we left every edge of our table filled with plates, cutlery, crumbs, sauce, bean juice, honey and coffee stains that were strangely reminiscent of a table following a chimps tea party…….which was ironic considering we were going to see a forest full of monkeys.
After packing up our stuff and making a quick stop at the local Tesco Express, we piled back in the car and drove down to Trentham Gardens in Stoke on Trent……the home of the Monkey Forest (http://www.trentham-monkey-forest.com/information.php?id_cat=1).
According to the web-site, the Monkey Forest is home to over 140 Barbary Macaques (Translation: 140 Sore arsed monkeys).
So…..essentially, it’s a forest full of monkeys…..that’s it!
You can’t touch them, you can’t feed them, you can’t stroke them…..you can’t even point and laugh at their sore arses for fear of one of the guides glaring at you.
To be fair, watching a family of monkeys interact is actually pretty interesting……you can genuinely see how human life evolved from the apes….
“Oooh look Edie……there’s the daddy monkey cuddling the mommy monkey“…….
“Oooh look Bridie……there’s the baby monkeys play fighting in the trees“……
“Oooh look Elle…..there’s the alpha male monkey displaying his dominance by downing a pint of Carling in 10 seconds and loudly belching the word BOLLOCKS”…….
“Oooh look…..there’s the next door neighbour monkey parking his monkey mobile far too close to the edge of the other monkeys driveway so they won’t be able to get the baby monkey out of the car seat without dinging the wing of his car“…….
Like I say…….these barbarry macaques are EXACTLY the same as us humans.
Following a swift walk around the forest, we then listened to a young girl from Stoke make the worlds dullest and quietest speech about how monkeys feed and conservation and shit……
Finally, we nipped into the ‘Banana Cafe’ (Can you see what they did there?) for a donut and a cup of coffee before we wheel spun the car out of the car park and headed back to the comfort of our Kings Norton treehouse to sit in our tyre swings and fling shit at each other.
……..and relax!
Until next time…….”Ooooh oooooh, ooooooh!” (Monkey speak for “Love you, bye!”)
pilchardrabies 