Yesterday had to come straight in at number one as officially the worst day of not just my holiday, but my entire life. Text messages and emails regarding both my personal and business life changed my mood from dark, to blacker than a Nigerians anus as the rained hosed down on my efforts to clean our mobile home ready for inspection. With my blood pressure now at it’s highest since a magic mushroom overdose in 1986 I wandered how I was going to cope with all the things conspiring against me, so I did with the help of Kieran, what all Irish people do best. I got hammered.

I woke this morning with stress/alcohol related migraine behind my left eye that was so powerful that not even the sudden upturn in weather changed my mood, as I was going to have to pack all our stuff and get it over to the other side of the site. Thankfully Kieran had let me borrow his people carrier to move our stuff, and I repaid his generosity by reversing it in to a tree. As I did so a case in the back seat lurched forward and knocked me semi unconscious in what was rapidly turning in to a Laurel and Hardy sketch. All that was missing was the comedy music. I just couldn’t get used to the wheel being on left hand side but I eventually kangarooed myself around to my base and parked up in our new home and left the kids to investigate.

I now had to return and invite the French Mafia round to inspect my cleaning before they returned my deposit of what was increasingly a very important 40 euros in what was becoming the worlds most expensive holiday. Thankfully it was the blonde attractive one who helped me sort the car situation who was to inspect, and as I walked down from reception with her, her warm and dare I say it sexy French voice filled me with confidence that I would not get the grilling John and Heidi had received yesterday. However her voice went in to Nazi interrogator mode the moment we stepped inside. “What eez ziz and what iz ziz?”

After a nervous twenty minutes she declared it fit enough to give me my deposit back and her voice became warm and friendly again as we went to reception to sign out. She was asking me all sorts of questions about the children and where my wife was etc. and in a mid life moment of deluded fantasy, I even thought she might fancy me. As we got to reception I heard her laughing and saying to her friend “Il est celabataire”. My French was good enough to understand that! I am single, not celabataire! Okay okay, I admit I have not been living the life of an international porn star in the last six months, but being described as celabataire made me feel like some loser who was never going to be seen with a woman again. Celabataire indeed!

On my way back I bumped in to the 65 year old lady who donated the tent the Dutch people I had abandoned before they drowned. “Oh good morning”: She said. “When you get five minutes could you pop in the 250 euros for the tent”. F*CK ME 250 EUROS!!!!!! She softened the savagery of the blow by telling me 100 euros was a deposit, but this was still exploitation on a huge scale upon someone who had landed in deep shit through no fault of their own.

There are two types of people in this world who react totally differently to a fellow human in need. There are people like Kieran and Mary who lend you there car to crash, and there are people like this old cow who see it as an opportunity to empty your wallet of all that is left in it. She was non to impressed when I offered her the shirt off my back. To think I hugged and nearly kissed the opportunist bitch yesterday. When I got to the tent, I found that heart-warmingly the boys had unpacked the car and put all our stuff in the tent. I thought to myself “Little gestures like this are what make life worthwhile”. Then I discovered that George could not quite manage my case as it was too heavy, so I lashed him to oblivion with my belt. A job is not worth doing if it’s not done properly!

Anyway the rest of the day was spent in the sun and the pool, it was almost like I was on holiday as my mood lightened, and I kind of looked back with a black fondness at all the misfortune I had had, and began to almost admire myself for having not committed suicide. I had also invented a new term for useless. You know when you here people say “About as useful as a chocolate fireguard”. “ She is about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike”. Or “he is about as useful as a one legged man in an arse kicking contest”. Try this one. “He/she is about as useful as an Asda black bin liner”.

These things serve no purpose whatsoever except to cause great hilarity to passers by as they split open with the ease of a knife through butter. I must have split five of them, each load lighter than the last until I gave up when I split one with a tissue box. There is nothing quite like the embarrassment of grovelling about on the floor picking up litter whilst a French family watch on as if though you are a Covent Garden street act. They love watching the slightest of dramas the French, about thirty of them turned up to watch my car getting towed away. They can’t get out much I suppose. Just found out Reading won 2-0. Is my luck changing??