Everywhere I turn at the moment there are kids on school trips and I swear every single sprog is silently asking themselves the same question. What the fuck am I doing here?
Going on holiday with teachers is like going away with your olds, only a hundred times worse. All the things you want to do, like get lashed and shag the fit girl from the disco senseless, are almost certainly non starters, but at least if you are with your parents and pull either off, your dad will be secretly proud as fuck and will convince your mum not to give you too much grief (and buy you some Johnnys just in case you are intending to go back for a repeat performance). If your teachers catch you serenading a lamp post or doing the dirty however you can forget any such happy comfort blankets and consider your educational career over. Don't listen to all that old cobblers about teachers on these outings being matey and jokey and one of the gang. Truth is they are anything but. You can take the arsehole out of the classroom but you cant take the classroom out of the arsehole. They are exactly the same bastards on these beanos as they are at any other time though with a somewhat reduced (if at all possible) sense of humour.
Perhaps my judgement in these matters is clouded somewhat by the experiences of my formative years. My folks had a simple rule when it came to away days. If it was cheap and I stood a half decent chance of learning something I could go. If it was a tad pricey and nothing more than a doss around I could forget it.
So while all the other brats, whose parents had deeper pockets and a more sensible idea of what constitutes a good time (not to mention all the birds you wanted to get into the knickers of), went off skiing in Switzerland or sailing in the Med, I was left listlessly gawping at Martello Towers and Roman Villas with a bunch of mingers. And no, my father didn't appreciate it when I said if his sole intention was for me to see a succession of old ruins I could save him some cash and go and stay with my grand parents for a week.
Bitter? Me? Never!!!
So to all those poor little sods packed off to the Island for a week of booze and banging deprivation. You have my deepest sympathy. Look on the bright side though. In fifty years time you will get your revenge. After all you get to choose your parents old peoples home!!!