47 Number of times I will hit my head on the caravan door frame before I punch the caravan (or devise a cunning way to stop doing it).
9 Number of $2 coins the wife will ask for to do one load of washing, as it’s still not dry.
36 Number of snarky/comic names bestowed on fellow campers to amuse the wife. Like Damon and Jemima, who parked their giant motor home in the middle of our sea view and proceeded to cook mussels and sear broccolini for young Tarquin and Sapphire.
99 Number of times the hunting enthusiasts next door shout ‘Logan! Mason!’ each morning as the toddlers shoot at us with their new toy guns.
Zero Total number of segments of Terry’s Chocolate Orange I can successfully sneak from each of our 3 kids.
360 Average number of minutes chocolate is safe in the fridge before it mysteriously disappears.
7 Maximum number of minutes I get to write before someone wants or needs something.
Like $2 for the machine, or to account for some missing chocolate.
4 Number of days before the kids stop wearing sandals, jandals, kicks or scuffs whenever they walk on any sand or grass, and are happy with bare feet.
3 Number of days I can go without a shower, by swimming in the sea instead.
2 Number of minutes I can handle the shower going cold before cracking open the door to press the button for more hot water.
4 Number of mothers and small children sitting outside, staring impatiently at the crack.
0.25 Number of places I can safely change into my togs without flashing someone, somewhere.
9 Number of bum cracks visible at any one time within a thirty metre radius as beach folk adjust and strut.
3 Number of tubby kids who can squish onto a tiny camp chair to stare at a phone while their mothers do the dishes.
∞ Amount of entertainment possible to derive watching other campers set up and pack down.
13 Number of times the wife tells me to shush! each day in case the neighbours hear me making up fake dialogue for them.
You can’t park that there.
That’s never level.
The awning’s fine, it’s my groundsheet that’s fucked.
I see you have the Classic. Mind if I have a look inside?
0.75 Maximum number of intimate acts achievable before the caravan starts to wobble (or a child appears).
58 Number of times I covet the food the Chinese campers are cooking by the ablution block with theatrical flair and giant flames.
3.5 Number of days in a row you can eat sausages before you reach peak sausage.
5 Number of books taken away to read.
0 Number of books read.
4² Number of books the kids have read (factor due to them rereading their books with glee).
9 Number of days unable to locate the can of CRC you are sure you packed in the fixit kit.
9 Number of minutes it takes to locate the old can of CRC after buying an overpriced new one.
19 Number of times I can smile at the same person on the way to the ablution block without saying a word.
17 Number of times I can mention the weather when forced to talk to a stranger before having to find a different topic.
6 Number of hours between the Christmas Eve ‘weather event’ and the Christmas day thunder storm.
36 Number of minutes it takes for a web page to load on the camp site Wi-Fi when it’s raining.
5 Maximum number of hours I can hold off going to the toilet in my last set of dry clothes when the rain is still horizontal and my raincoat is still soaked.
4 Number of incredibly loud farts the smallest child can release in her sleep after being rescued from her tent during the Christmas Eve storm, and snuggled down into the caravan.
5-6 Number of days it takes to forget how many days you’ve been on holiday.
6-7 Number of days before you start counting how many days remain.
19 Number of different exercises the two blonde twins in front of us do in perfect unison each morning.
3 Number of minutes before the wife realizes what I’m counting.
364 Number of little coloured bits of rubber strewn across the campsite after sudden water bomb fights.
363 Number of bits of rubber that remain on the grass two hours later.
1 Number of people sitting on the ‘occupied’ chairs by the pool.
180 Number of seconds a mother sitting down with a good book by the pool will look at the book before picking up her phone to check something.
88 Percentage of particulates in the pool that are not water or chlorine. Or leaves. Or rubber.
1 Number of times I have banged my head on the door frame of the caravan since writing In and Out on the caravan step in order to aid traffic flow.
2 Number of people who suddenly appear out of the shadows after I fart loudly on the way to the ablution block at 5 am.
7 Number of times the wife and I suspect we’ve been approached with the secret campground swinger’s code.
She’s in good nick.
I see you’ve got the Classic.
Have you been to the end of the beach? There’s a lovely spot in the dunes.
I had the beef. The wife prefers the fish.
You’re very good with your morning stretches.
7 Number of invitations to socialize, or have a wee drink, the wife and I have non-committedly dodged in order to sit in the caravan and look at people.
Nice. Lovely. We’ll have to see. I’ll ask the wife.
1.5 Number of snoozes desired each day.
0 Number of snoozes achieved after 15 days of rest.
1 Number of days remaining before wondering if we can extend the holiday.
24 Number of seconds it takes to decide that we can do another day. Yay!
1 Number of nights left before we pack up and head home. Boo 🙂