Going on Holiday... perhaps

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So, we are off on a family holiday. 

Well a pilgrimage really.  Up to Zim - the old homeland. Travelling in true Sedgefield style on a whiff of petrol, an ice-cream tub of boiled egg sandwiches and a knee grazing* bank card  (*for those new in town who still actually have money, knee grazing bank cards are the sort which require a quick but furtive prayer on the pavement  before insertion into the ATM machine).

So why are we embarking on such a trip when the bank balance is shouting “NO! NO! PLEASE DON'T GO!” (quite poetic our bank balance, isn't it?) well it is purely for  health reasons.   To be specific, Mrs Ed said that if we don't take a break this year she will kill me. 

You see every year for the past seven or so, we've planned a big family holiday.  We haven't actually embarked on one, but we have made the plans.  It starts off in the first week of January (the planning, not the holiday) with Mrs Ed and I and the two kids moping around the lounge of depression  eyes down cast, lips on the floor, dreading the return to work and school.
“ I just don't wanna go.  Everyone bullies me, and calls me names.  I get into trouble for not finishing my assignments.  And they tease me all the time because I look different to everyone else!” I whimper. (That's what I get, I suppose, for working with an all female staff).So Mrs Ed calms us down with the promise of something to look forward to.  AKA The Family Holiday.

“Where do you think we should go this year?” she muses….and we fall for it every time.

Really, anyone listening would think that we rush off to a different exotic location every year, and I'm sure that in the farthest recesses of our minds we KNOW that we have a 99% family holiday failure rate…… but the planning is such sweet nectar to our ears, we simply cannot resist revelling in the joyous conversation.
“How about a fishing trip in Mozambique?” my son, The REE (Resident Expert on Everything) suggests. “I reckon it would only take us 27 1/2  hours to get there, if we drove non-stop, seeing as our car has an 1800cc engine with 135Nm torque, and the distance is 2337km.”
“Or Paris?” says my daughter, The MCM (Money Consuming Machine) “That can't be much further?”

And so (apart from a brief decision Mrs Ed and I make to cancel The MCM's extra geography lessons) the conversation carries on.  Our minds flitter from Mauritius to Mombasa without batting an eye.  Adrenaline pumps through our veins as we mentally load up the Edge-mobile to drive up through Africa to visit the Pyramids in Egypt (you see - it is not from MY SIDE that the MCM gets her terrible geography).  We can almost sense the snugness of snow mittens and taste of hot-chocolate as we discuss our skiing holiday in the Alps, then seconds later we are game-viewing in Etosha….

When a firm destination decision has been made, we all make the solemn vow to save every cent we possibly can.  The MCM suggests that if we buy her two or three new outfits she would EASILY get a waitressing job and thus boost the holiday coffers, and The REE works out the exact saving that the family would generate if his mother gave up smoking,  his dad stopped buying beer and everyone stopped using toothpaste and shampoo for the next eight months.

Then we do the traditional holiday container.  What fun!  What gloriously exciting fun! You know how the Americans carve out a Halloween pumpkin every October?  Well, we make ourselves a 'Holiday Box' every January.  The HB is, of course, the receptacle in which we post and store all the holiday savings.  Normally it is rather ambitious in size - a five litre water bottle, or 1kg coffee tin. 

Once we have found a suitable container then it is sealed.  Really sealed.  This involves approximately 50 metres of sellotape, a tube of contact adhesive, a small blow torch, barbed wire, and sometimes a short length of electrical wire and a plug.  ANYTHING we can use to make sure NONE of us can break in.

This done, there follows the ceremonial vow made by each and every family member. Linking arms and looking as solemn as possible, we all recite the sacred oath.
“I hereby promise, upon my life, that I will place any excess money  I may have upon my person , be it notes or change (but not including dark brown money), into this, the Holiday Box.  Furthermore I will never, never, ever, in any way, make any attempt whatsoever to gain entry into the HB. Indeed I will not set about it with ruler, knife, screwdriver, nor chisel. I will resist any temptation to hold it up to the light to see how much is inside.  I will not attempt to suggest reasons for the contents to be spent.  And I shall not partake in any wasteful activity which may result in the necessity for extra funds.  I say all this with sound mind and I understand that should I break this solemn vow, I shall have my cell phone removed for a period of no less than 6 (six) months.”

For the next week or so we brazenly save.  We are right up there with  the best savers in the world.  We save like we are the savingest savers in all of Savedom….  Approaching the HB like some sort of public shrine, we curtsy to it as we lavishly deposit money with untold generosity.  R20 notes,  R50 notes, R100 notes. The MCM even drops in a mismatched pair of silver earrings and a letter of promise of her prospective waitressing earnings.  The REE, who has been watching the HB closely, works out that if the family sticks to the current deposit rate, by May 17th at 4.35 in the afternoon, we should have enough savings to head off to the airport and fly to Bali.

I found Mrs Ed wrestling with the HB on the lounge floor in the first week of February (an all time record for us). There was a pile of bills and final demands and sheriff's notices lying around her as she grunted and groaned in her efforts.  I assisted, rather than trying to stop her, having just worked up a real thirst answering a call from someone who felt quite strongly that we should pay  Edgar's account  (not sure who Edgar is, but there was no way I was paying ANYTHING for him, especially not in February).
 
Eventually, me grasping the lid with both hands whilst hooking my feet under the WMCC (World's Most Comfortable Couch), and Mrs Ed bear-hugging the bottle and rolling over and over, like a Serengeti crocodile ripping the head off a Wildebeest, we finally got the HB open. Twenty one 5c pieces, a  greenish pair of silver earings and  two dozen IOU notes from The REE (and some of his friends) fell to the ground…..

Now, six months later, we have decided we're going away anyway. Why not?  There's a family gathering/wedding in Zim and the bank was foolish enough to send us a (nother) credit card in the post, so we can drive now, pay (the sheriff) later.  And Mrs Ed has assured me (through those bared bull-terrier teeth of hers) that if we don't go, I will be 'paying for it' later anyway …
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