There was something I left out in my previous post…
As soon as we made it to the room (here in Pontins) I unpacked the Nintendo Wii. Well you don’t think I’d go away for five days with mad children unarmed do you?
After setting up I turned the telly around, only to find a single coaxial ariel-type port at the back -not the required composite yellow/red/white or scart.
There was weeping, gnashing of teeth, floor-kicking, head banging and general non-specific tantrum behaviour. Luckily the children weren’t around to witness it.
Once I recovered I came up with a cunning plan!
“Quick -check the telly next door for a scart connector!” I called to my obliging wife. Her sister was late arriving you see. She missed the induction, er, I mean registration and we had their room key.
Sure enough their TV did indeed have the necessary port. Pontins’ upbeat air was beginning to rub off because I must admit it gave me great delight swapping those televisions.
But my joy was short-lived.
The Wii did connect, but there was no remote control in the room. The buttons on the front of the set allowed volume control and channel switching, but there was no way to switch to the AV channel. Gah!
Though fear not, for help was at hand… Mrs. Rumm stopped a member of staff outside the door and asked if there was a remote control for the TV. Alas, no was the reply, but the staff member promised she would see if there was anything to be done before slinking off. We all know what that means don’t we?
Imagine then my surprise when she slinked back five minutes later with another staff member who knew his onions.
“Which TV do you have?” He enquired as he stepped into the house, “I might be able to…” but once he spotted the non-brand brand he groaned. “We probably could’ve done something if it had been anything other than a LINSAR model…” he consoled me like a doctor delivering unsavoury news to a relative.
By the time he left the roles had been reversed. He was that upset at not being able to help I was consoling him.
Five minutes later he was back with a Thomson TV in his arms.
“I know it’s possible to switch to AV on this model” he beamed.
And he was right.
Another problem presented itself -brightness was very dim on the AV channel -something I was prepared to live with, but ‘Thomas’ was now taking it personally. He set off once more, this time in search of a Thomson remote from his own accommodation. Fortunately by the time he returned the problem had rectified
itself. Don’t ask me how.
Chalk one up for the Pontins staff -for Thomas in particular of course, but from what I’ve seen, everyone seems helpful around here.
Last night, as we watched TV, afraid of going to bed (I didn’t yet mention the kip that is the bedrooms), my daughter snuggled up next to me and smiled. “This is a nice holiday isn’t it daddy? Tomorrow I’m going swimming and I’m going to go down that slide!”
I had to join in her glee and return the smile.
I still hate the place of course, but don’t tell the kids that. They might… nah I suppose it wouldn’t matter one jot if I did or not.
…Reminds me of something unrelated. Or probably not that it reminds me, but what I mean is something else just popped into my mind…
On the ferry yesterday we traipsed the two available levels in search of seats for two adults, two children. Everywhere was full. People barricaded themselves behind bags, parents juggled up to three children in the air at once,
It was like being at a football stadium in the buildup to a hurricaine. Or like being at Pontins I was yet to discover at the time.
Then I spotted it: One young fella upstairs, in a corner, sprawled across a table, surrounded by five empty seats, with his back to the chaos. He felt my presence and looked up (immediately regretting it I could tell).
“Are these seats taken?” I enquired, moving into place with the two kids and wife in tow.”
“Yeah” he stammered.
I looked around at the empty seats with no bags.
“All of them?” I pushed.
He cowed into his arms (still spread across the table) “er, ‘cept one” he mumbled.
It would have given me untold pleasure to call his bluff, but Mrs. Rumm would never have taken it. Instead we shared some space with her sister’s family.
Later I saw that sprawled guy queuing at the Bureau De Change. I suddenly had a deep-seated urge to run up and sit in the corner seat upstairs. It pains me to admit I didn’t.
Later still, my sister-in-law’s child began to wander around the stairs and I felt it my duty to accompany him. We made it to the top and my suspicions were confirmed: Mr. “Er, ‘cept one” was once again sprawled across the table, surrounded by six empty seats. I had missed my chance at the Bureau De Change. I have now designated him my nemesis. He may have won the first battle, but our paths will cross again one day. Of that I am certain!
Meanwhile, back at Pontins, my sister in law is anxious to check out the pig & donkey race this evening (my money’s on the pig -never bet against a pig), my children are adament I’m to accompany them swimming and my wife just relieved me of the one pleasure I was having all day (cherry beer from the not-so-local Morrisons -she drank it!)
I haven’t bumped into Captain Croc yet, or any of the other camp mascots. In fact I’ve managed to keep low most of the day. With any luck I can get through this. Only three more days to go.
At least nobody mentioned Bingo yet.
Continue to Day 3.