When I was younger I went camping.
(Don't worry there's more to this story.)
Probably over ninety percent of my holidays were camping holidays around europe (well, England and France... let's not get above our stations). Each year, once or (if we were unlucky) twice, we'd stuff everything we possibly could into our little grey car. We took it all: duvets, fold-up table, chairs, buckets and spades, knives, forks, portable campfire -in the guise of a calor gas canister, shower rack, sometimes the cat... but none of the good stuff. The TV, stayed at home. The toys, stayed at home. The videos (including the prohibited Young Ones video), stayed at home. Anything that was of any use to someone who wasn't interested in picking mushrooms that, after consumption, always ended with diarrhea, seemed to stay at home. As a result whilst we were on our camping trips there was the necessity to seek out our own fun(ghi). (HAHAHA)
We, my brother and I, were given money for the whole holiday. The money had been saved from household chores like bedroom cleaning and car washing or stealing it from our sleeping grandma's handbag. On top of the saved funds, our parents contributed... on the understanding that it would be distributed throughout the holiday and not in one massive, treasure chest-like, chunk. That's right, I was essentially given 'per diems' as a reward for putting up with sleeping in a mouldy tent and having to wee in a bucket at 2am.
I think I was given, daily, something like £2 which, at the time, was marvellous. I would ration it and try and save it so that on the last Friday of the last week I would get myself Something Good. 'Something Good' was undefinable. One holiday it was a figurine of a rock with lots of mini rocks on top with the sign: 'Rock Concert' on it, the next holiday a fluorescent fly swatter which also transformed into a frisbee. The possibilities for that £10 (I'd always managed to spend four pounds on candy floss and Push Pops), were endless. Not only were they endless, they were mine - no one was allowed to comment on my purchases before they were made (I think a crack pipe would have been an exception. Maybe). I would show them off afterwards and there might have been the odd comment, but that £10 felt like the beginnings of my own assertions at being a grown up. And then came the WOM.
I don't remember where we were (the WOM has made me erase all traces from memory), but, as always, Friday had arrived and I was searching for my 'Something Good'. My 'this will make me happy and cool AND ironically witty at the same time' (- like the Rock Concert, although at 10 I didn't know what irony or wit was. I still don't). There was so much to choose from: bucket and spades (obviously not), little plastic men who, if you threw them at a wall would stick to it (a high possibility), body boards (too expensive), furry worms that were tied to invisible cords so they looked to be moving on their own... So many choices. I knew I had to separate the wheat from the chaff, find a brilliant 'Something Good' And then... I came across it. I had found my 'SomethingGood Amazing'. I had found the thing I would take back home that would remove the need for the TV, for the Videos, for the cat. I had arrived. I bought it and bounded back to the mouldy tent.
Me: "Here, look! This is what I've bought. Isn't it amazing?"
Dad: "That's a WOM".
Me: "I know! it's incredible. Look at what it....Hang on, what's a WOM"
Dad: "That is"
Me: "No.. I mean... what does WOM mean?"
Dad: "Waste. Of. Money"
Me: "But...Oh..."
My dad saw my 'Something Amazing' for what it really was: a waste of money. I was hurt, and angry and wouldn't be told. I stomped off with it and was grumpy for the rest of the holiday. It was me and the 'Something Amazing' now. In it together. To conquer the world.
What I had actually purchased was a bright orange balloon filled with sand. On the front of it was a smiley face and scribble lines for hair. If you squeezed it the face would distort and it seemed like you were sharing a joke. It also felt nice.
In the car on the way home I squeezed it too hard. It burst and sand went everywhere. I started to cry.
Beware the WOM.
(Don't worry there's more to this story.)
Probably over ninety percent of my holidays were camping holidays around europe (well, England and France... let's not get above our stations). Each year, once or (if we were unlucky) twice, we'd stuff everything we possibly could into our little grey car. We took it all: duvets, fold-up table, chairs, buckets and spades, knives, forks, portable campfire -in the guise of a calor gas canister, shower rack, sometimes the cat... but none of the good stuff. The TV, stayed at home. The toys, stayed at home. The videos (including the prohibited Young Ones video), stayed at home. Anything that was of any use to someone who wasn't interested in picking mushrooms that, after consumption, always ended with diarrhea, seemed to stay at home. As a result whilst we were on our camping trips there was the necessity to seek out our own fun(ghi). (HAHAHA)
We, my brother and I, were given money for the whole holiday. The money had been saved from household chores like bedroom cleaning and car washing or stealing it from our sleeping grandma's handbag. On top of the saved funds, our parents contributed... on the understanding that it would be distributed throughout the holiday and not in one massive, treasure chest-like, chunk. That's right, I was essentially given 'per diems' as a reward for putting up with sleeping in a mouldy tent and having to wee in a bucket at 2am.
I think I was given, daily, something like £2 which, at the time, was marvellous. I would ration it and try and save it so that on the last Friday of the last week I would get myself Something Good. 'Something Good' was undefinable. One holiday it was a figurine of a rock with lots of mini rocks on top with the sign: 'Rock Concert' on it, the next holiday a fluorescent fly swatter which also transformed into a frisbee. The possibilities for that £10 (I'd always managed to spend four pounds on candy floss and Push Pops), were endless. Not only were they endless, they were mine - no one was allowed to comment on my purchases before they were made (I think a crack pipe would have been an exception. Maybe). I would show them off afterwards and there might have been the odd comment, but that £10 felt like the beginnings of my own assertions at being a grown up. And then came the WOM.
I don't remember where we were (the WOM has made me erase all traces from memory), but, as always, Friday had arrived and I was searching for my 'Something Good'. My 'this will make me happy and cool AND ironically witty at the same time' (- like the Rock Concert, although at 10 I didn't know what irony or wit was. I still don't). There was so much to choose from: bucket and spades (obviously not), little plastic men who, if you threw them at a wall would stick to it (a high possibility), body boards (too expensive), furry worms that were tied to invisible cords so they looked to be moving on their own... So many choices. I knew I had to separate the wheat from the chaff, find a brilliant 'Something Good' And then... I came across it. I had found my 'Something
Me: "Here, look! This is what I've bought. Isn't it amazing?"
Dad: "That's a WOM".
Me: "I know! it's incredible. Look at what it....Hang on, what's a WOM"
Dad: "That is"
Me: "No.. I mean... what does WOM mean?"
Dad: "Waste. Of. Money"
Me: "But...Oh..."
My dad saw my 'Something Amazing' for what it really was: a waste of money. I was hurt, and angry and wouldn't be told. I stomped off with it and was grumpy for the rest of the holiday. It was me and the 'Something Amazing' now. In it together. To conquer the world.
What I had actually purchased was a bright orange balloon filled with sand. On the front of it was a smiley face and scribble lines for hair. If you squeezed it the face would distort and it seemed like you were sharing a joke. It also felt nice.
In the car on the way home I squeezed it too hard. It burst and sand went everywhere. I started to cry.
Beware the WOM.
I think we should start a list of top 100 WOM's. Or actually - we should call the list top 100 Something Amazings. That's much nicer. I'll start the play at: A wooden Frauline Milk Maid figurine whose limbs are held together by string - when you push a button on the bottom, the string slackens and the Milkmaid goes floppy. Standing, slouching; standing, slouching; standing, slouching!!!!Hoooray!
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