It has been the same in families for generations and will continue for generations to come. It is a known fact of life that family outings that are built up by your mother as “bonding time” do in fact end up turning into the breakout of World War III. Your parents argue in the front about being lost, while you’re stuck uncomfortably in the middle in between your bickering siblings because you were too slow to call shotgun of sitting by the window…again. You didn’t really want to go to begin with but your mum guilted you into it because “it wouldn’t be the same without you”. You knew the day would just consist of arguing and being cold but you didn’t have a choice. Its not like you’re nineteen and have the right to make your own decisions or anything…
When you finally arrive four days later because dad seems to have a fear of putting any sort of pressure on the accelerator, you step out and are hit by arctic conditions. Well, kinda. Obviously you can’t admit this, mum told you eight times that you’re going to need a coat, but you’re nineteen and can make your own decisions. Lets be realistic though, no one is going to see you at this random Harbour on a Sunday afternoon. You should have brought a bloody coat.
Lunch in a nice warm cafe? Nah, lets all freeze to death while also attempting to cover your food from hovering (and probably flesh eating) seagulls overhead. These days are not fun. You do not bond. In fact, you start to question what you could have done so horribly wrong in a past life that you deserved to be born into this family in 1996. The Universe couldn’t have just waited 15 years and brought me into the world as Harper Beckham. Where is the justice people?
I will admit though, even though these family days out can make you want to kill each other, you realise on crappy days that you would much rather be sitting on that cold Harbour than on school benches waiting for the bell to ring for you to go to Irish class. Modh Coinniollach or family? See, your parents aren’t so bad after all…
