In my experience, all of the best holidays require a running joke or two. I don't mean an entertaining anecdote about the exercising masses, but something that crops up early in the holiday and provides amusement during any slightly dull moments.
There were two candidates this time. The first was that we purchased a 'Little Lost Bear' on the plane going out. The joke here is that he looked insufferably cute with his hands over his eyes, as displayed in the catalogue,
but when you take his hands off his eyes he's the most obnoxious, self-righteous cuddly toy yet.
He's full of stories (invented, we suspect) about his jet-setting previous life, spent the whole holiday criticising us and our lifestyle and frankly he's a pain in the *rse. The boys are not happy now that we're back! He's been expelled from the comfy seat but appears to enjoy his perceived superiority as a result.
The other running joke will possibly only work for Andy C. Mads and I were discussing Joy Division on the plane out, probably prompted by the fact that we were going to miss seeing Control until we got back (but Andy helped out with a review here). Anyway, I'd had a couple of beers by this point and became a little passionate about my school days knowledge and love of certain Joy Division singles, notably Transmission. Part of my defence of how much I liked them was that I know the lyrics, so could sing it for Mads if she wanted (on the plane) and that I could even imitate Curtis' unique dance style. She declined my generous offer but there were several inappropriate moments over the course of the next 7 days when I would wave my arms around madly, singing 'Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio'. I even offered to go up on stage, during an interval in an enjoyable display of Greek dancing, to share my passion with a larger audience.
I hasten to add these moments didn't last long once Mads intervened and that I promise you I'm not a boorish Brit holiday maker, just a happy man who likes to share his passions (or something like that).
