Hell holds an Open Day - packed lunch required

Advantages: Character forming…
Disadvantages: Soul destroying.

While I hotly refute recent claims that women lose brain cells as a result of pregnancy, there is one area that might suggest the theory has a tiny grain of truth in it. Why else would we continue to offer our services (in the face of bitter experience) when assistance is required for our children’s school trips?

The voice of reason inside my head has always said something like “No thank you, I’m hoping to have bubonic plague that day…” while I can hear my own voice saying treacherously “Of course, I’d be happy to help!”

Consequently, I have sat through a white knuckle terror ride on a double-decker bus who’s MOT certificate must have been the biggest miracle after the immaculate conception, laughed (sympathetically...) as my hung-over mate threw up into a hedge after hearing a farmer describe to a class of schoolchildren the passage of grass through the stomachs of a cow, and found myself stuck under a metal climbing frame with someone else’s child during an electrical storm.

The most memorable trip took us to Bristol Docks and Cabot Tower. My group consisted of two girls and five boys, all of who seemed intent on spending a carefree day trying to kill us all.

Warning bells began to ring as our entire party (thirty-one kids, five adults) boarded a ferry for a ‘pleasure’ jaunt around the docks. Every time one of the kids saw anything interesting, there’d be a shriek of excitement as they all left their seats and rushed as one to the side of the boat. The poor guy in charge of keeping the whole thing afloat would yell repeatedly “Move away from the side!” as the adults attempted to get the kids back into their seats, and the boat pitched at a perilous angle towards the water.

After disembarking, we staggered on trembling legs up Park Street, herding our little gangs of hoodlums through the busy traffic to Brandon Hill, where we stopped to eat.

By this time, all the mums were in dire need of a cigarette. The two teachers had already made it plain that sneaking off for a crafty one was not on, and watched us like hawks. We had other ideas, Polluted and Unclean we may have been, but they needed us and we knew it. Weak bladders, that time of the month, dodgy curry the night before – the three of us took turns to use the loos, and we all spent a suspiciously long time in there.

Looming high above us stood Cabot Tower. The plan was that we would go to the top, one group at a time, while everyone else played in the park further down the hill. My son opted out of the experience altogether as he is petrified of heights. On reflection, that was the moment that I should have mentioned the fact that he gets it from his mother.

As we got to the top of the tower, the jelly-legs factor kicked in again. This wouldn’t have been a problem if the kids had felt the same way, but once more they all seemed determined to fulfil a death wish. Totally fearlessly, they leaned far out of the tiny window at the top, complaining loudly as I clutched them to stop them falling, despite the fact that I practically had hold of one kid by the ankles. I could hardly bear to look out of the window myself – frankly, I’d already seen enough of Bristol that day and didn’t need an aerial view, even if it was spinning in a very novel fashion. It was with great relief that I heard the next group climbing the stone staircase – things couldn’t get any worse. Could they…?

Naturally, the steps going down the hill didn’t pose enough of a challenge for my would-be stunt team. Oh no, they were going to roll down the side of it instead. One after another, they threw themselves down the hill, as I shouted “Use the steps, you’ll break your neck!” Miraculously, they all reached the bottom in one piece. At this point, another child appeared behind me.

“Mrs Who’s-it says I’ve seen enough of the tower, and I can come down with you!” he shouted, and then launched himself down the hill as I yelled almost automatically “Use the steps, you’ll break your…” The words were interrupted by a loud and sickening crack. The poor kid sat there on the grass, looking tearful and stunned. He had broken his arm. Panic-stricken thoughts were fighting for space in my head - where were the eagle-eyed teachers when you really needed them? Oh ye Gods, he’s broken his arm! Fortunately, I could hear the Voice With a Will of it’s Own talking sense for once “Don’t worry, it’s not broken. Let’s just get you down the hill to Mrs Whatserface”

I think I can say with certainty that I was not the only one to feel thankful when we finally rolled back to base that day, but I could well be the only one daft enough to let myself in for more of the same. Since I worked for myself at the time, I was usually in a position to accommodate requests for school trip assistance, and reasoned that it wouldn’t be an issue if I ever decided to take up a job outside the happy home. But then I did. In a school. Trips obligatory. Some people never learn…

Since then, I’ve had a kid throw his new shoe from a school bus to be lost forever on a busy motorway, my packed lunch has been sat on (by another member of staff – you know who you are!) and I’ve had an eye infection after visiting a smelly pig farm on a very windy day. Never again…until next time.

It might come as a surprise to learn that I’d recommend the school trip experience to a friend as a riot of fun, but this is only because all my friends know me as the type to laugh in the face of adversity. However, I’d also recommend a trip to the nearest chemist first, for paracetamol, nicotine patches and Rescue Remedy.