A Pina Colada Please!

Has anyone tried a Pina Colada? I’ve just looked at the recipe; 2 shots of white rum, 4 shots of pineapple juice, 1 shot of cream and one shot of coconut cream.

I’ve got to be honest; it sounds a little sickly to me. I’ve never been that keen on creamy drinks although in my younger days I did enjoy the occasional Bailey’s Irish Cream. These days I tend to go for the hard stuff – like diluted Persil Automatic or Mr Muscle Sink Unblocker.

You know it’s amazing what you can get hooked on in a recession.

Sometimes I even get hooked on the back on the door – usually it’s because Mr T is fed up with me.

Anyway, the fact that I might not like Pina Coladas didn’t stop me fantasizing about one during my latest BBC article Say “No” to Camping which if you’ve overdosed on the booze whilst reading this and can’t put two and two together is basically me whinging on about the horrors of camping. But one thing I forgot to mention in the article and I feel it is my duty to inform you for sake of family harmony….

Never, ever, go camping with relatives.

Three years ago I was persuaded against my better judgement ( Read “Nagged to death”) by my family and my sister in law and her partner into camping for 2 whole excruciating weeks in the Isle of Wight.

Now I am not a camping person; indeed I would rather leap naked off the Eiffel Tower than go camping. I’m just not cut out for it. What the hell is the point of going on a holiday where you have to plan it like a military operation? And all that stuff you have to take with you – it is worse than having a newborn baby and having to take all that baby paraphernalia with you just in case the world slips into an ice age or there’s an acute heatwave on your way to the supermarket. Yes, camping is a lot worse because you have to take all that stuff AND the kitchen sink.

So anyway, as you can imagine, not being exactly happy about camping in the first place I was even more disconcerted to be informed on the day that we should drive in convoy with my S-i-L taking pole position because she had been to the Isle of Wight a number of times and knew the route.

Now unfortunately, driving in convoy is one of my pet hates – I’m an independent sort of gal and I’d rather muddle my way through things than play Follow-My-Leader. Anyway, in this case it was particularly annoying. Why, I hear you ask?

Because the car I was driving had satellite navigation.

Yes, I know, it makes no sense. And further, ask yourself this question – Would you want me driving behind you?

No, I wouldn’t either.

Anyway, for the sake of family relations I decided to begrudgingly conform and duly did what I was told and in the course of time we arrived in the Isle of Wight. Whereupon I decided to get my own back. Now there were 3 cars in the convoy, My S-I-L, Mr T and myself and the kids.(Yep, I pulled the short straw – there’s a surprise.) But my car (Well Mr T’s) was the only one with Sat Nav, so as my S-I-L had not actually been to the particular area of the Isle of Wight where we were going I informed everyone that it was now their turn to follow me.

Ha! Yes, I know it’s a petty revenge. But sometimes a gal’s gotta do these things for her sanity. And it made sense did it not??

So, the boys and I were happily driving along following the instructions from that nice lady on sat nav when suddenly I noticed that both my S-I-L and Mr T have disappeared.

Obviously, I was thinking that they couldn’t keep up with Mrs T’s speedy driving and so I duly pulled in and waited.

And waited. And waited. And waited.

Eventually, after some more waiting, I got on the mobile phone;

“Where are you? Are you lost?”

The reponse;

“Oh, we decided to go another way. We’re already at the campsite putting the tent up.”

Now obviously I didn’t curse in front of the boys but here’s what I was thinking;

“~*!* ~* **##!**~!”

Well to continue… myself and the young masters duly arrived at the campsite, having been given the leaflet about which area we can camp in as there are a number of areas for different purposes. (ie with electric, without electric etc etc.) I followed the instructions from Mr T (it’s a big camp site) and eventually the boys and I arrived to find Mr T & Co putting up this enormous tent.

Well you might think I was lucky to have missed out on the arduous task of erecting the tent. But no, instead I was thinking….

Why are they erecting the tent in the wrong place?

Yes, I’m sure you’ve all had similar moments when you know someone is wrong but then have to go about telling them nicely so they don’t get shirty with you.

Of course some folks take a lot of persuading. Humph. However, once I’d got Mr T on board with my theory ( This required alternating between looking gobsmacked, waving leaflet, pointing at electric point we haven’t paid for, repeatedly asking them if they’ve read the leaflet and generally looking throughly pissed off.) then the tent was then dismantled and erected in the place it should have been.

Now I should have been gloating with my victory but alas by then Master Ben had disappeared, dusk was beginning to fall and we were only a short distance from the sea.

As you can imagine, Mrs T was not feeling good. In fact Mrs T was feeling pretty bad.

Well as you know Master Ben is safe and well so all’s well that ends well.

But Mrs T has a long memory and let me tell you it will be a long, long time before she ever, ever steps over the threshold of a tent again. It’s luxury 5 star from now on! I’m too old and far too sophisticated for all that boy scout stuff. Yep, the boys will have to the boy thing together whilst I clear off to The Hilton. Hurrah!

Blimey, that was mega whinge wasn’t it?! Anyway if you want some more reasons why you should never go camping check out my BBC article. In the meantime, I actually popped in to play this song which I remembered whilst I was writing it. You know it’s been years since the last time I heard this song and I’d forgotten just how good it was.

But as we say in the UK… It’s a corker!