 |
|
Summer holiday 2003 to the Dalmatian coast of Croatia. As always with family holidays,
getting there is half the fun, and that year was no exception. Not only did the car break down just outside Stevenage as we were
driving down to Gatwick to catch an evening flight, we had an interesting adventure on public transport in central London on the
hottest day of the year, somehow ended up
in Bishop Stortford overnight, then Italy the next morning, hit the world's biggest traffic jam, passed through Slovenia
and finally ended up where we needed to be two days after we'd set off. Yes. It was about as fun as it sounds. Twas a good holiday, though --
good weather, but one week too long. Being a stroppy, hormonal teenager, I naturally chafed at being incarcerated with my parents in close
confines for more than a few days. Plus, there was practically no one else under 40 in the flotilla we joined. But it did get me
out of the house for 2 weeks. And I didn't come down with galloping gastroenteritis at any point, either. Yay.  A cafe in Trieste, Italy. I was about as amused as I look. Stroppy first mate, unamused galley slave. A luvverly sunset moored off a little island where we had a moonlit barbecue. The flotilla moored off the same island. We're the |
|
|
You
may contact the webmistress with your complaints, suggestions, death
threats, random abuse etc., here.
Site created in the bloated piece of shite that is Microsoft Frontpage and
cleaned up and otherwise tweaked in HTML Kit. |
|
