"Fat to Fittie"

Sadly, the last day finally arrived, not really much to look forward to and it looked like the breakfast might be the highlight, food is clearly an issue if you’re trying to lose weight when on a coach holiday. For a start, it’s always difficult to refuse the full English breakfast, no matter how much willpower you have, I defy anyone not to indulge, somehow a yoghurt or fruit salad while on holiday, just doesn’t cut it. Everyday I’ve had fried bread, can’t believe it, probably the most un-healthy breakfast food, in the world. Don’t know about you, but when I’m away, breakfast is 3 courses, absolutely no way would you do this at home, but on entering the dining room, your eyes are everywhere. Cereal to start, maybe a yoghurt, then the full fry up, followed by toast and preserve, marmalade always wins for me, plus the sugary fruit juice and maybe a croissant. Then there’s the evening meals, always 3 course and again, hard to resist when it’s there and the voice in your head saying, “You’ve paid for it, get it eaten”.

One thing I really didn’t want to mention again, was the nasty 1970’s throwback, who was desperate to be a manager, but in reality, was just a nob ed. I’ve made a bit of a joke about what he did, but the truth is, it’s not good, he seemed to take pleasure in being a git to many in my group, why someone would want to go into hospitality when they have the people skills of a interrogator in the Gestapo, is completely beyond me. We were late setting off cos he spitefully didn’t collect any of the cases that people had left outside their rooms from 8am, one lady had got up at 7 because she thought that’s what he said. He told the driver than no one had left them out, then smirked and said “well they’ll have to take them down themselves” The guy is not right in the head, many of the group were elderly and needed help, me and a couple of the other men in the group helped the driver, who to be fair, was fantastic throughout the holiday, sorting out all the issues that Basil created.

If you looked at reviews of the hotel, you’d see many comments not only about him, but the access at the front. They have a ramp that’s been condemned by the council as too dangerous, and they haven’t been able to use it for a year, the steps are also horrendous, topped with the same, extra slippery tiles. One review mentions a couple complaining when their daughter slipped on the way in, Basil’s answer was “well, it’s been raining”, what an absolute ****. Unfortunately a lady in our group who hadn’t been well, stumbled on the way out as the bags were being loaded, it could have ended so badly, but thankfully she bounced quite well off the planters he’d placed in front of the condemned ramp to stop people using it. I will be taking it further and filing full complaint’s on behalf of the group but don’t want to keep discussing it here, best to keep it light,  Just like his curly 70’s perm. Anyway, to say we were glad to leave him behind is an understatement, thinking of writing a song about it, bye bye bay tree to the tune of a Bay city rollers song is on the cards.

The few days walking had taken it’s toll on me, morphine was required, as was no footwear, sometimes I need to do this, mostly because it makes me feel safe, I think there were a couple of people in the group who didn’t like seeing my hobbit feet, but I really didn’t give a toss, I’m well past caring what people think, especially when my pain level is so high. It’s fair to say, out of a group of 42 people, there were only about 6 who weren’t very nice, the rest were fantastic people, I loved being in their company and we had some wonderful conversations, I’m going to miss not seeing a lot of them but that’s the nature of a coach tour, you make some great new friends, but only for a short time, some wonderful people and I wish everyone of those that I became close with, all the best for the future.

Tweedmill was our only stop, a sort of factory outlet for the extremely rich, wasn’t a great choice and most of the group hated it, but apparently in the past when they’ve gone to a town or city, people go missing and are late back, we needed to be at a service station for 4.30, couldn’t be late, so walking round looking at shit we didn’t want and in my case, couldn’t afford, was 2 hours of my life I won’t get back. Though I did meet the happiest girl ever who worked in a café and told her so, restored my faith in Welsh hospitality. Pleased to report no one was late, in fact everyone was 15 mins early, begging to get on the coach, guess that was the point of taking us there, after a quick last head count, off we set on our final two and a half hours together.

Everyone was a little tired and dreading their final transfer home, for some that was 3 hours, I felt a bit smug only being 45 mins. If you don’t know how it works, basically there are about four tours running at the same time all over the country, they all meet at the beginning and end of the holiday, groups then transfer to different coaches for the final trip home. This service can also be known as a feeder, yeah I know, some of you will have a different idea of that term, for anyone who doesn’t know it’s used to describe a person who feeds another to keep them fat as that’s what they prefer, in a sexual way. Won’t lie, sounds like a good idea, I mean, let’s be honest, how good is that, not only someone who doesn’t mind you having a few extra pounds, if not stone and actually finds you sexually attractive, on top of that, pays for and cooks your food to ensure you stay that way, sounds like a lifetime of coach trips.

Unfortunately for a large part of our group, they were in for a long wait, a coach travelling back from Fort William was running an hour late and confusion kicked in, not quite the ending I was hoping for. There were some I didn’t get chance to say good bye to, which slightly spoilt the week, but in all, despite the few problems and issues, the high’s had massively outweighed the lows, So would I go on another coach trip, yes,……. just not to Wales.