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King Henry: Goodbye Sandy Hole

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Henry Tudor | 11:37 UK time, Thursday, 5 August 2010

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Apparently we're not on holiday - we're having a "staycation". That's what poor people do when they can't afford to go abroad. Obviously in my case the decision to stay on home turf has not been financially motivated - I've got loads of money. Problem is, it's all tied up in land (well, more precisely, it's tied up in bundles, buried in land).

Anyway, the problem with abroad is that it's packed full of foreigners, and who wants to go on holiday and get a face full of foreign? Time was when the only decision you had to make about foreign countries was how to stake a claim - by force or by marriage? These days you can pop in and out without a snog or a rumble and frankly the fun's gone right out of it.

Which is why we've chosen to stay here in Sandy Hole this summer, although I have to say, the time is really starting to drag. Catherine won't tell me exactly when we're going home in case I get too excited and make myself sick, but it can't be long now.

For instance, I'm not one to look for omens, but they do say it's not over until the fat lady sings, and based on the warbling whopper who turned out for Monday night's karaoke competition, the end must surely be nigh.

But overall, it has been fairly relaxing and I've learnt a few useful things:

  • I've realised that boredom, not necessity, is the mother of invention. For instance I've made a complete Monopoly set out of natural materials - a board made of bark, Community Chest and Chance cards written on leaves with charcoal and pebbles for hotels. The old boot playing piece is, somewhat ingeniously, a real old boot. Yes! High fives for Henry!
  • I've also discovered a new kind of attractive force - somewhere between the strength of gravity and magnetism - which appears to exist between sand particles and my undercarriage. I feel certain this force can somehow be harnessed for good, but at the moment all it seems to do is guarantee a mini sandstorm whenever I take my trousers off.
  • And holiday food has been a revelation! How amazing are scotch eggs? They've got meat, egg and breadcrumbs - all my favourite foodstuffs - in a single, easy-to-handle package. Some poxy kid at the campsite playground tried to tell me that they were eggs laid by a chicken that hadn't wiped its bum properly but they're too num-num-num for that to put me off. I think scotch eggs are the single most important contribution those kilt-wearing, caber-tossers have made to modern society.
Speaking of tossers, the caravan site owner popped around yesterday for what looked to me very much like a pre-departure inspection (more evidence!). He said we wouldn't be getting any of our deposit back because of "unreasonable wear and tear" to the caravan!
I'm not saying the interior hasn't had a little bit of punishment, but if you're going to have a toilet so small that a man can get stuck in it, you've got to accept the possibility that the same man might have to smash his way out with the lid of the cistern.
To be honest, it was a complete surprise to me to learn that caravan's were designed to be used more than once. I thought you just had it for a summer then chucked it away. Surely that's why it's got wheels - so you can drag it to the tip.
Oh - hang on. Catherine's at the door with a big bag of travel sweets and some puzzle books. This could be it! Our triumphant return to civilisation. Back to a proper computer, with a proper internet connection. I'm literally salivating, which is a bit worrying. No - it's okay - I just caught a whiff of something tasty. It's a scotch egg! Mmmm... Mind you, might give it a wipe with the old kitchen roll, just in case...
Coming Catherine!

Henry VIII was (sorry, is) king of England. The second series of his online show, Henry 8.0, has been showing on the BBC Comedy website - this is the final episode. In addition, you can catch up on Henry's previous blog rants. You can also follow Henry on Twitter or like him on Facebook.



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