Family Ramblings - Novice writer Charlotte Blake talks holiday drama

Family Ramblings...

Written by Charlotte Blake

We are one hour into a three hour journey and ping! My mind tells me that I do not remember packing the pump for the blow up raft. "Don't worry I packed it!" Dad says confidently. So reassured, I sit back and relax into the rest of the journey. This is of course after I stop recounting my steps to ensure that we did not forget anything. Even with a quick return to the house to grab the bucket and spade and double check the back door was locked for what must be the hundreth time! The holiday has now officially begun. We arrive safely and quickly settle into our nest for the next seven days. True to English weather form, we map out which days to do what and where, plus we manage to dodge good and bad weather days. The honourary beach day arrives, the sun is shining between some cloudy spells and we orchestrate a picnic, all wrapped up and lovingly packed next to my new best friend... The flask! It's at a certain age this perky insulated BFF comes into play. Even more so when you replace the hot stuff with bubbles or beer! After two round trips of the town and beach car park stake outs, we finally and to be honest, covertly stalk a poor family about to leave, smugly park up and headed for the sands. "Well done kids, you're doing really well with all that stuff." Both children look up as they drag oars, grass matt and pop up tent, to give me, yes me, the reassuring smile that it's all OK. #heartemoji After bumping our bountiful bags down what feels like hundreds of steps we settle, socially distanced of course on the beach. Pop goes the tent, bang goes the hammer on the wind break and a whoosh of air does not go into the raft. "Where is the pump!" asks Dad about to have a full on paddy. "I don't know dear, you said you packed it." I say calmly but now with a slight twitch, I continue to set up camp. Carrying on regardless I wrestle little arms and legs into wetsuits and life jackets, to see Daddy scratching his head saying "I can't find it..." "Can't find what dear?" I say. "The pump!" said Dad more than frustrated and turning a lighter shade of rouge. Soon he reluctantly resigns himself to popping to the shop to buy another. In his absence, sandcastles form with a moat and bridge. Salvaged shells, stones and crab skeleton adorn the turrets and entrance. A most gallant effort! "Got one!" Dad exclaims proudly after being gone a good hour. "I had to go right to the top of town you know." "Great, well done!" I say along with a rolled eye or two. "How many do we have now?" "Just the four." Dad mumbles. At this point I ask myself - 'When do you ever learn from your mistakes?' I quickly realised that you have to celebrate the small victories and make the mistakes, new traditions. Here's to many more with a future in a new collection of pumps!

Charlotte Blake is a new writer on the scene, a frazzled mum of two children, her dog is her best friend and her husband is the biggest kid on the block. Which can all make for one thing - many funny but also moving memories to share.