Scummy Mummy Does Mexico

1

 

As holidays go, I am all up for experiencing new cultures and meeting new people, but If there were a ‘class’ system for holiday makers, then the vile creature we met on our pacific getaway would definitely be ‘steerage’. This Scummy Mummy was of the ‘ Jeremy Kyle Show’ ilk, donning her best Primark leggings and serving ‘Polyester Kaftan realness.’

We were introduced to her at Gatwick North terminal, when she declared to the entire folk at Gate 27, when the softly spoken gentleman at the lecturn politely invited all passengers requiring special assistance to come forward;

“My daughter has autism!, My daughter has autism!”

To which the gentleman swiftly replied “Can she walk unaided?”

“Yes”, said the scummy mummy, who was then met with the response;

“Then she doesn’t require special assistance….now sit down!”

I have full admiration for those that care for people who are a little less fortunate and have problems with everyday life, however I don’t imagine even her daughter would want the embarrassment of her mother declaring her diagnosis to the 300 people waiting to board the Dreamliner.

I had nothing to declare, except the 100ml bottle of Paco Rabanne, purchased moments before in Duty Free, but unlike Scummy Mummy, I kept that to myself.

Upon being turned away, she then concocted an affliction of arthritis in her left knee, rendering her suitable for speedy boarding. Bitch please….I have rheumatoid arthritis affecting my entire body but I have waited my turn like everybody else. The only visible affliction she suffered,was loving food that little bit more than she loves Pilates. Nevertheless, she boarded the plane and disappeared from our lives… until we got to Puerto Vallarta

“Coach number 1!” the nice TUI rep pointed out!

We grabbed ourselves a drink and made haste to the comfort of the fully air-conditioned bus to cool down our sweaty bits after being pelted by 35 degree heat, dressed in our full superdry travel clobber courtesy of our North Terminal spend up!

As the bus filled, I spotted Scummy Mummy loitering, daughter in tow, who now, through no fault of her own and without formal introduction was known as ‘The girl with Asperger’s”. A total shame that, although we discovered her name some time later….she was defined primarily by her disability…owing to her mother’s shameful attempt to get one over the ground staff at Gatwick.

“Oh no….shes getting on our bus”, I observed.

In her crumpled polyester and newly painted nails (the Mexican flag…..natch), she sat two rows in front…..great!  When the TUI rep boarded the coach and handed out our welcome packs, and  our invite to the respective ‘Welcome Meetings’, there commenced the ‘Been here, done it all before’ performance.  You know what I mean right?….that annoying person who has been to the same place many times before and decides to make it abundantly clear by interrupting and correcting the tour rep, who is busily trying to do his job.

Our 1st stop is the ‘Royal Decameron’….our hotel… What luck? However as soon as he announced this…I heard the Scummy Mummy let out a definitive ‘Yessssssss!’

Oh no!, we thought, how can this be? How can Scummy Mummy be frequenting the same 4 Star, All Inclusive complex as us. Im not one to judge (I am), but she hardly seemed the ‘high- flying business woman’ type. I even considered at the Airport, whether she was at the wrong gate, or whether ‘The Sun’ had extended their £9.50 holidays to include the Caribbean.  This aint Great Yarmouth Yarmuff love!  All I could think was she must be raking in the PIP and Carers allowance payments.

On the coach she had an altercation with the couple sitting behind her, who had kicked the back of her seat.

“I have just had a kid kicking me for 12  f**king hours on a plane, now sit down properly and stop f**king kicking me”,  she shouted. (Unnecessary)

As we got off and checked in and went our separate ways, I was glad that the complex was vast and had 650 rooms, the chances of seeing her again were pretty slim.

Wrong

There she was at the welcome meeting again, enlightening everybody on all the trips and excursions that she has been on every year with ‘Aspergers’.

“Don’t go and see that show…the singers all mime”, and “Don’t use this taxi company, because they try and rip you off”.

At the end of the welcome meeting…co hosted by the illiterate potty mouth, the poor TUI rep took no bookings for any trips, thanks to the intervention from ‘Benefits Britain.’

The Hotel had 8 blocks, with 8 pools and around 10 restaurants and where did they put Scummy Mummy?…..in the same section as us of course, that was until she played the ‘arthritis’ card again and was moved to the ground floor…..every cloud has a silver lining.

We went back to book the trips. The ‘Rhythm of the night’ tour was extremely popular and we heard Scummy Mummy say that she wanted to do that on Monday….so we booked to go on Tuesday. Turns out it was so popular that it was fully booked on Monday so whilst sipping our welcome ‘Margerita’, on the boat, my eyes soon   fixated on the polyester whisperer!

In a desperate attempt to steer clear, the husband and I positioned ourselves on the boat’s bow, like Jack Dawson and Rose Dewitt-Bukater from the film ‘Titanic’.  As we sipped on our drinks and headed for the island, we couldn’t help hear the confessions of the plagued mother who was telling everyone that cared, that her daughter had paid for her trip from some compensation she had received.  Where there’s blame, there’s a claim!

Call me cynical, but I couldn’t help thinking that this was their way of paying for holidays. Scummy Mummy would  douse the floor with cooking oil in Sainsburys, and send her daughter down the aisle to fetch the Doritos and Beef Jerky, who would then unknowingly fall flat on her arse.

Everywhere we turned for two weeks, there they were!  Scummy Mummy exposing her cellulite and fat rolls to the entire beach, causing a mass exodus wherever she parked herself. (Every time her mobile went off…we all thought it was reversing). Poor Megan …yes we finally found out her name… spent the entire holiday in the hotel reception, stealing the high speed wifi (you had to get up really early to buffer before Megan had set up for the day), and playing with the strap on her swimming shorts (small pleasures).

We left them in Mexico, they were there for 3 weeks….must have been some fall.

 

 

If you like my blog, please get to know me better and visit my social media pages by clicking the links below

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Instagram

The Curious Incident…

The curious incidentLast weekend we went to see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night time… a little Christmas treat from my pal.

The plot was about a young boy with autism who was trying to find the killer of his neighbour’s dog- Wellington, and we were all drawn in to his life story and gripped by his tenacity and  methodical approach to the world. This was a real thought provoking play with sad bits, random shit, and a cute labrador puppy at the end to help take your mind away from the incessant crying.

While I was there though, I was drawn to a number of other curious incidents..

The curious incident of the 70 year old Usherette with Tuberculosis

As I said this was a play that required attention..there were moments of powerful silence where you could hear a pin drop….well…you could if ‘old Sylvia’ from the grand circle could control her whooping cough. Ironically the pensioner who was paid to make sure people were not talking or disrupting anyone’s experience sat dying in the corner….disrupting everyone’s experience.   Oh we did laugh…

The Curious Incident of the Tongue and Grooved Theatre

I have never been to Aylesbury Theatre, and unlike Drury Lane, it offered a much more modern motif  with   a sea of wooden cladding that gave the feeling of being in a scandinavian sauna. Luckily the heat was turned right down…although if we had thrown a bucket of menthol on the coals, then Sylvia may have been able to clear her chest.

The Curious Incident of the overweight gay and the pretty lesbian 

I’ve never met a real one… but a couple of rows in front of us, there was a gay boy with a stomach to his knees and the arse the size of Belgium. Sat next to him was a beautiful petit lesbian (an oxymoron in ordinary circumstances). It’s usually the other way round…but no the bloke was a dog and the dyke was a babe.

We had a great night with good friends and a lovely McDonalds to wash it down on the way home.

 

If you like my blog, please get to know me better and visit my social media pages by clicking the links below

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Instagram