Veranda Talk columnist  for The Lismore Echo Dr Airdre Grant.
Veranda Talk columnist for The Lismore Echo Dr Airdre Grant.

Holidays are in the eye of the beholder

AREN'T little children adorable? Aren't they the cutest? Don't they say the darndest things? So adorbz.

My friend and I went to a resort in the country. Least we thought it was a resort, when we got there it was more a run down collection of huts, the sort of place that scouts rub sticks together, say dib-dib-dib and bivouac (doesn't anyone know what that word means?).

Don't blame me, she booked it. She was driving.

Gamely we pressed on and walked up the dirt path to the 'hall'. We passed a filthy young child of about 4, playing next to a dusty, neglected fountain full of leaves.

"Hi, what's your name?” my friend asked.

"I'm daddy's little princess!” snapped the kid without looking up.

"Nice flowers,” said my friend valiantly. She has an overdeveloped desire to make everyone happy. Honestly, if Hitler came to the door she'd invite him in for a cup of tea. Daddy's little princess kicked stones at us.

We went into the 'hall'. Inside were trestle tables, big jugs of cordial and pots of stew. Were we even at the right place? Had we accidentally stumbled upon a strange cult or a religious holiday camp?

Suddenly daddy's little princess came charging in.

"I want daddy!” she bellowed over and over. A few other 'guests' looked around. Some made the mistake of saying things like "there, there and he'll be here soon”. This only enraged her further.

She hurled herself on the floor and drummed her hands and feet. It was a truly spectacular display.

Suddenly a burly biker type with long beard, many tattoos and dressed in a leather jacket came in.

"Daddy's little princess,” he called. She stopped and ran into his arms.

"My beautiful little princess,” he cooed and smiled at the stunned 'guests'.

"Let's go,” my friend whispered. "I think we're in the wrong place.”

For a minute I wavered. After all, this was quite the drama. Then daddy's little princess glared at me and I remembered how much I dislike surly, grubby children.

We backed out of the hall, ran down the path, jumped into the car and zoomed off. Ten kilometres down the road and reached the 'resort'.

All groomed paths, manicured gardens and tinkling wind chimes next to a pool. I never did find out what the scout camp/biker kingdom of daddy's little princess was. Some things are better left alone.

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