We took the van to the Lakes this weekend. It took approximately 150 Tracker bars to get the kids round the walk and two grown adults to lift the all weather hunting dog on to the scary boat at the end. We passed sheep, drenched Duke of Edinburgh students, smug runners and more sheep. We *may* have told some white lies about fairies being just round the next corner.
But it’s none of that I need to apologise for.
It is the events of the evening that I need to address. Not the kids reaching that over tired hyper state perfect for Gatecrasher but not the local village pub. Or the boy sourcing a leather seat to blow raspberries on, prompting a waiter to search the establishment for a rogue growling dog he assumed was making the noise. It’s not the kids taking it upon themselves to roar at full volume at every sheep they found on the campsite (we need to dial down the dragon related bedtime stories).
No. It was the mad dash to the campsite toilets, followed by a mad scramble to de-onsie the boy repeating ‘poo, poo, poo’ in a panicked state. Imagine trying to undress a twitching anxious octopus who had swallowed a bomb. A ticking poo bomb. Meanwhile your other octopus, still hyped up from purple Fruit Shoot, is rambling in your ear about why the hairband you used on her this morning was the wrong colour and therefore child abuse.
I don’t mean to brag but I got him on the toilet in time.
Anxious octopus poo bomb: 0
Then it all went a bit tits up. On bending to wipe poo fired, just, everywhere. It did not stop. It was sausage based.
On to my apology. I’m not sorry to the campsite, no trace of the carnage was left. I’m not sorry to my daughter who spent this time rearranging the shower cubicles and providing helpful commentary on the whereabouts of her brothers poo. I’m certainly not sorry to my son who needs to learn solely consuming sausages has serious, molten shit based consequences. No, I’m sorry to the DofE student who, on day one of their three day expedition was drenched to the core, had spent two hours fighting with their tent and finally made it in to the warm refuge of the shower block only be subjected to the sight, smell and sound of shitgate. I am truly sorry.