Life with a coach-load of old folk (and me)

Hello dears.
No... that's not right.

Hello there folk!
Nope... that's not right either.

Oh dear. What's happening to me? I appear to have forgotten the much taken for granted art of the standardised greeting. It must be the concussion I incurred when a book fell on my head (from a great height) this week . That's the only solution I can deduce.

You see, since Monday last week, I have being in the company of people much older than I'd usually dilly-dally with. In case you don't know (or haven't yet guessed what I'm talking about), I've been on "holiday" (in inverted comma's). This week I accompanied Gma (aka Grandma) on a coach trip, so you now see how the inverted comma's come into place.

Now, I don't know if you know, but the dictionary defines "holiday" as:

• a time when one is exempt from the requirement of duty and assessment*.

Well, this is totally debatable. I for one was most certainly not exempt from duty, but Gma and her pals were. To further deduce whether I was actually on holiday, I have posed myself a question:

• Was I relaxed?

Yes, I answer without hesitation, but really I mean no. Maybe I was at times relaxed, maybe I wasn't. You see it's hard to relax in a dining hall filled with 300 plus OAP's. As lovely as they are, you can't help but always find yourself on the lookout for an accident that may or may not occur, which therefore makes it impossible to relax. Plus, as the token "young" person, I had to fulfil various unspoken deeds, otherwise the mature folk would cast all kinds of aspersions upon the youth of the nation.

So, with that knowledge in mind, I cast the role of defender of youth-kind upon my shoulders. Nobody asked me, but I felt it was my moral duty; that in the absence of kindred youth-spirits, it was my responsibility to defend the honour of those aged under 30. Don't worry, there's no need to thank me! It wasn't actually possible for me to commit myself to the job 100%, as it wasn't possible for me to defend (what I have recently come to describe as), the undefendables.

Please note: Undefendables are known as such for the simple fact that their actions cannot be defended. Undefendables are the select few that besmirch and tarnish the the tag of youth. (I believe, friends, that you are aware of whom I refer to and require no further explanation...).

Naturally, I felt it essential- in the absence of other under 30's to defend the defendables to ensure that the definition of youth had the following left to it's name:

1. some credibility
2. some meaning
3. some, er, some... something else at least... not sure what...

Understandably, having assigned myself as a valiant knight who has drank from the fountain of youth, I was always on guard. So really, in response to the previous question I posed (could I relax?), the short answer is no, not really. It's exhausting being a protector of human-kind. Trust me.

Now we have ascertained that I was not nearly as relaxed as I'd have liked to be, I posed myself another question:

• Was I tired? 

I answer you with a resounding no, but you know as well as I do that I'm fibbing. Yes, of course I was tired. Who wouldn't be? I was sharing a bedroom with Gma which, by day was delightful, but by night? Well... a different story entirely.

As much as I love my Gma- flaws and all, I don't think my love can stretch to include nightly snoring. Nope, I've thought about it some more: it definitely isn't that elastic. Over the course of the week I swam 2 miles in the hope that I'd exhaust myself into sleeping that night. It was a great theory (if I don't say so myself), but didn't come off in reality.

That was a shame, a real shame. So on top of physical exhaustion, I then added what I have come to term: "total sensory deprivation". It's no where near as scary as it sounds- it's basically an eye mask and ear plugs... but I quickly learnt that ear plugs might plug your ears, but they don't block the sound. They merely muffle it. This meant that I was back to square one.

As Gma is obviously my grandmother, it would've been wrong to poke her with a poking device (whatever was to hand, be it a finger, a foot, a pen, the lamp, a book etc). So I had to make do with imaginary poking, but I have to say, imaginary poking is nowhere near as satisfying as real pokeage because the silence does not follow.

Anyway, you'll be pleased to know that I did manage to get some sleep. Eventually. And last night, upon returning home, I had new found respect and admiration for my trusty, faithful and loyal stead: my single bed.

So, having established that I was neither relaxed nor rested, I have posed myself one final question in my post-"holiday"-analysis:

• What can I conclude?

Well, I can conclude that despite the long bouts of sitting and multiple cups of tea scheduled into the day, I have a secret that I have been harbouring since my return. But first, you must promise me you won't tell a soul. You promise? Good. Right, well the thing is, I... I erm... I secretly enjoyed our excursions out, especially the jaunt on the steam train. It took me back to my childhood, which was lovely. But more than anything, I loved the fact that I felt as though I were aboard the train to enter JK Rowling's Hogwarts (you'll understand my disappointment that the engine wasn't a scarlet one, but was in fact bottle green). But even so, I loved it just the same.

I am particuarly proud of my self-proclaimed rebellious streak. Whilst on board the steam train, you're never going to believe what I did! It was so totally rebellious, because I, Mildred McManus am a fully fledged rebel (well, for today at least). You're not going to believe this, but when the steam train was chugging along, I stuck my head out of the window (after sensibly tying my hair back). Now, I know that might not sound that rebellious, but trust me it was! Because right above me was a sign that read 'Under no circumstances are you allowed to poke your head out of the window' (or something like that. I'm not sure if the word poke was used, but you get the gist of it). So you see why I'm something of a rebel now? Cool eh?!

Anyway, I'm going to go to bed now and appreciate the silence and the solitude. Gma- if you're reading this, thanks a million for the trip. To the rest of you, good night and thank you for reading this.

From a very sleepy Mildred

P.S. Sorry I couldn't write to you sooner! The hotel was a computer free zone and therefore incompatible with life for the YAC's (Young Aged Citizens). 

*Sourced from dictionary.com