THANK GOD my first born child is home safely after 10 days in Cyprus with about 1050 friends. Having lovingly nurtured and cared for him over these last 18 years it was very hard to let him go because you pretty much know that he is likely to fu*ck up all your hard work by abusing himself to the max. True to form, he has managed to come home a complete wreck in just 11 days. He has virtually no voice left and has a cough. He is exhausted – “the earliest we went to bed was 4.30am but the rest of the time we probably went to bed at 7am”. I assumed that meant he would have slept all day but “no way, because the music started blaring at like 10.30am and it was like a 24 hour pool party where we were staying and the speakers for the disco were attached to our balcony and the earplugs didn’t like work AT ALL”.
He has survived on a diet of sambuca, cheesy chips and hot dogs – “and OMG mum, yesterday, on my way home from a club there were some cheesy chips lying by the side of the road uneaten, with what I thought was like mayonnaise – so I ate them and then realised that the mayonnaise was like actually PAINT and so then I was sick for like the next 20 minutes”. I mean honestly FFS. What was he thinking?
The tattoo on his arse is not that bad. It’s smaller than I thought. It says “Viva La Fiesta” although it definitely slopes in the wrong direction and gets bigger towards the end, but oh well – probably tells it how it is. He also has a slightly green foot owing to an accident with a taxi when he was trying to save his girlfriend and a few others from getting run over.
He brought his (just) 11 year old brother a huge can of beer as a present and me and my daughter a teeny weeny bottle of something evil to share (“it’s like 80%”) with a shot glass attached – he and my daughter thought it was freaky and sweet that he had bought her a shot glass saying “I heart Cyprus” and coincidentally her present to him from her holiday was a shot glass saying “I heart Ibiza”. AMAZING. I thought to myself. I am producing an entire family of alcoholics. GREAT.
“Mum, to be honest, your present is having me back alive” he duly said in manner of proper useless male and for a teeny weeny second I fell for it. Typical bloke comment but nevertheless, we did then talk about the very sad story of the teenager who was stabbed to death by an enraged taxi driver in Greece just a few days ago.
He has shown me videos of the pool party, shown me photos of him and his friends in clubs, one in a “silent club” where they all have headphones on and dance on their own which seems to me like an odd thing to do but they apparently all loved it – especially if you take the headphones off and listen to everyone singing really loudly and badly on their own. He showed me the bouncer in charge of taser gunning (seriously) anyone who got in the pool after dark. Maybe that was a good thing, taking a massively heavy handed approach. Maybe they save a few lives every year by instilling the fear of god into them all. I heard that some areas were badly hit by the blast and ended up with no power whatsoever, no aircon, lighting or flushing loo’s. Oh dear. Sounds like Glastonbury.
His girlfriend has come over. We’ve all had a quick meal together and they’ve given me a few morsels to think about and now they’ve gone upstairs.
Can’t think why. Maybe she hasn’t seen his tattoo yet.
I am so pleased they’re all home safely and very happy that they all had such a brilliant time – best holiday ever – it takes a bit of getting used to this letting go stuff, that’s for sure.
