Beaver Creek

Well I'm feeling very productive today, I have already made a curried parsnip soup (that tastes like actual farts) and a syrup sponge (that rose up to touch the top of the oven, turned black and promptly collapsed into a kind of a shuddering blob), so lets get blogging!  

Been away for a while and in my absense I have almost 300 items of Spam waiting to be approved (or not as the case will be).  I will certainly know where to go if I need a fake Louis Vitton handbag, a Calafornian Divorce Lawyer, raspberry ketones (??) or indeed 'natural cookery experiences in Vancouver' (oh yes,  I NEED THAT IN MY LIFE).  This offer though has left even my slightly left-field brain puzzled:

Narrow blood vessels lie alongside the intestines of the earthworm and they absorb the nutrients from the alimentary canal feeding the rest of the body. I believe my exact words were "I don't want to be your dirty little secret. The buccal cavity is a small cavity that has neither jaws nor teeth. Also visit my blog post - funny pub quiz

Hmmmm. 

Hope everyone is well out there and survived the summer holidays.   I did - just.  More of that another day but lets just say the caravan holiday with my mum, both kids and 2 dogs involved actual blood, actual sweat, actual tears, a lot of rain water, a toxic jellyfish or two, several wasps and copius amounts of talcum powder.  And cider.  A lot of cider.  But we had a 'jolly good time' (that reminds me - must remember to reorder my psychiatric medication).

Today I'm going to concentrate on another day of the summer holidays  - the day that has come to be known as Beaver Creek.  The SINGLE most humilating day of my life.  And those of you that follow this blog will know that this really must mean it is very extremely hugely embarrassing.  For those of you that are on my Facebook it's old news - but hey, I'm sure you can cope with hearing it again (or maybe not).

Here goes.

This summer my ex-husband and I decided to do a day where we took a child each and gave them a day without their sibling indulging in their one true passion.   This was mainly to stop the one with Aspergers killing the extremely hyperactive loud one but I digress.   So he took the one with Aspergers to look at trains and engineering things and I took the extemely hyperactive loud one (quelle surprise) to the SeaLife Centre in Weymouth as he loves sea creatures (see, it makes sense).  

It was a lovely day and I was quite excited and about my big day out with my smallest child and I got dressed up in a lovely floaty summer dress, cork wedges and (this bit is relavent) a pair of knickers that happened to be those of French Short variety.

And off we went.

Half way through our day we came across the Crocodile Creek log flume ride.  Small boats (that hold 2 people) move slowly round on a lazy river and then climb up a steep incline and splash down the other side.   So we queued for the ride (god even typing this my palpitations are coming back).

To get on to the ride you have to jump in to the moving 'crocodile' boat from the platform.   I jumped in first - sort of squatting as there isn't really a proper seat and the bloody thing was ankle deep in freezing water and of course my bloody stubborn arsed child wouldn't follow...... He stayed on the platform noisly protesting as the crocodile sailed forth..... So, in a fit of desperation I grabbed him and dragged him in.... Only of course he freaked,  knocked me backwards into the boat so I was flat on my back with my legs spread wide and my knees bent.    He was firmly seated on my stomach/chest gripping on to my neck (presumably in terror but may have just been trying to finish me off) and in his mad scramble had managed to bring the floaty summer skirt of my dress up with him.

So I was sailing forth, away from the platform and around the sweeping bend, with my skirt WAY up over my knickers.

This was made infinitely worse by the fact that around 50 members of the general public were stood around the sweeping bend either queueing for the ride or taking photos or VIDEOING IT.

BUT (and this is the very very very worst bit) it was made infinitely worse by the fact that not only was my skirt hitched up, but the stupid French knickers (that look comfy BUT NEVER ARE) were not, how can I put this, sitting centrally.

No no my dears.  The entire gusset had moved from the area it is designed to cover and sharply to the left.  So that all the material was bunched in the crack between the upper reaches of my left thigh and, lets be frank here, my genitalia.  

So lets get this straight - I am pinned on my back and cannot (and boy was I struggling by this point) get the leverage to sit up as I have a heavy 6 year old child thrashing around and screaming on my chest/stomach.   I am sailing forth VERY SLOWLY towards a thronging mass of the general public including doting grandparents and fathers with video cameras and....... 

......and well my muff is on show.

I now understand the true meaning of the word hysteria - after a while I gave up struggling and just started to emit shrieks of sort of terrified laughter followed by small sobs.  I felt like I had gone out of my body and was watching a kind of ultra cringeworthy uncensored pornographic version of Mr Bean.   Where I am Mr Bean.  

Eventually I managed to right myself (and my knickers), the ride finished and I fled to a bench near the penguins where I continued to emit strange noises and sweat a lot.   Somewhere during this the strap holding my cork wedge snapped off, so I was also only wearing one shoe.  But let me tell you people THIS BARELY REGISTERED in comparison to  my shocked state and the fact that I was becoming increasingly aware that people would be going home and having conversations along the lines of 'you WILL NOT BELIEVE what we saw at the Sealife Centre today!' or, in fact, viewing video footage or photographs of their little darlings...... with my vaginal lips in the background.

As we left the attraction a lady at one of the stalls that flogs fridge magnets and the like of you 'enjoying' their rides with your family, stopped me and asked if I'd had any professional photographs taken that day.    No,  NO I hadn't I said before fleeing.

Nobody needs THAT on a fridge magnet.

We drove home and I promptly drank 2 bottles of wine in order to cope with the trauma.

The other child had a marvellous day out and nothing even slightly odd or embarrassing or weird or involving exposed genitalia happened at all.

No of course it bloody didn't.

Anyway I've told you now.  My shame is shared.  And if any of you were actually there and happen to have photographic evidence - please don't put it on the Internet.

Thank you.

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