"The Easter Choc-Apocalypse"

Easter 2009:

A total and utter 'Choc-apocalypse'. Enough said.

Stratford proved to be a most enjoyable outing. Thanks to special motion sickness pills, the boys managed to keep the contents of their stomachs on the inside and not splashed throughout the VW rental car, which was worryingly pristine when we took possession of it. Aside from a missed exit and an extra 40 minutes correction time the trip went smoothly (mental note: do NOT distract husband with mortgage concerns when exiting a service stop).

Upon arrival we checked into our rather punky smelling 'family' hotel room, headed out for a tour of the town and got utterly drenched in the relentless rain. We drank hot chocolate and trashed a sweet little cafe after a giant muffin and baby cappuccinos proved too much for the monsters to resist. We then went on to wreck havoc in Stratford's oldest pub, "The Garrick Inn', with the help of sticky orange juice and an old newspaper - which the monsters discovered could be adhered to the ancient wooden table top rather easily...but not removed. We shortly thereafter made a quick getaway back out into the rain.

Eventually we hooked up with our three merry pranksters, who amicably joined us, thereby helping create a convivial yet somewhat shambolic crew. Pubs were sampled, fish and chips greedily gobbled, and we happily enough ambled around the town (Guinness will do that to you) until such time as it was deemed inappropriate to continue avec two children under 5. Fair enough. So back to the hotel we went.

What followed was a night of unmitigated hell on earth as we found ourselves prisoners in a non-soundproof hotel, and the captive audience of a child with lungs of steel and a terrifying fit of the night terrors. Much like our horrific experience at last year's 'Big Chill' festival (http://eggandollie.blogspot.com/2008/08/big-chill-and-dumpie-monster.html ), Dumpie screamed like a torture victim for the better part of two hours and I suspect the hotel staff were only minutes away from calling the police to investigate. It was that bad. Eventually he was bundled up and trundled out of the hotel as a last resort.

So 2am found the husband and the two year old trampling around town, eventually ending up at our friend's rental cottage where Dumpie proceeded to rather enjoy himself I am told. Beers were had (hopefully not by Dumps) and much frolicking ensued.

If I wasn't sure before, I am now definitely of the mind that I am worryingly headed for slippers and robe territory. When your two year old (by whatever means) ends up partying later than you...well...what is there to say?