Okay, it’s an odd title for a blog post, I know – but it’s also (unfortunately) totally accurate.
A couple of weeks ago I was feeling at a loose end, and decided on a whim to book a last-minute weekend away to Blackpool. It wasn’t that we’d had any particular interest in going to Blackpool, or that anything in particular was happening there – it was just the first place that came up on Booking.Com, and the hotels there were cheap, so we went for it.
(£90 for bed and breakfast for three nights, for the three of us, over Valentine’s weekend was a bloody good deal! And the hotel was brilliant, so it was totally worth it!).
When we arrived, we went for a walk along the prom, SB was enjoying getting to stretch her legs after an hour and a half in the car (we had no idea Blackpool was so close!), it was freezing cold but we were all wrapped up warm, we got some gorgeous pictures – everything was going so well.
We found a Harry Ramsden fish and chip restaurant, and decided to have dinner there. SB likes fish and chips and sausage and chips, she’ll be grand! Or so we thought.
We ordered dinner, it arrived quickly, the service was so polite and welcoming and everything was great, but SB was refusing to eat. Not in an upset way – she was just turning her head at everything. She was coughing a lot, so we figured she had a sore throat. She drank a bit of water, and then she wanted a cuddle, so I reached her out of the highchair and snuggled her on my lap. She ate a bit of my dinner (typical) and then, out of nowhere –
Puke. Puke everywhere. All over me, all over my coat that was draped over my chair, all over the poor lady sat behind us eating her dinner, all over her fancy coat, all over the floor. And then she turned to me again and puked all the way down the front of my top and jeans.
SB had missed herself completely, thankfully – her clothes were totally clean, and her coat had been well out of reach – but she was obviously feeling poorly, so as Daf rushed to get tissues to wipe up the mess and frantically apologised to the couple behind us, who were presumably out on a lovely valentine meal until they got thrown up on by a toddler, I was alternating between trying to comfort SB, and not letting her snuggle into the lovely pool of sick slowly soaking into my t-shirt (isn’t this imagery just lush?).
The staff at Harry Ramsden’s were fantastic, and the poor lady with her sick-covered coat couldn’t have been lovelier about it – she was heavily pregnant herself and said it was good preparation for her – but we felt so guilty, and were so worried about SB, that we abandoned the idea of finishing our meal. Daf paid for our meal (and secretly paid for the lovely couple’s meal too, as we were both feeling guilty and embarrassed), I pulled my coat on to try and cover the lovely stain all down the front of my white t-shirt (big mistake; the arm of the coat was full of sick too), and we hurried out, getting SB back to the hotel sooner rather than later.
We toyed with the idea of calling it quits there and then. SB seemed so under the weather, I was on the verge of tears, it was freezing cold, we felt just plain awful – why would we want to prolong this shitstorm of a weekend? On the other hand, we were already upset, freezing cold and covered in sick – how much worse could the weekend realistically get?
We tentatively decided to stick it out. Although the night was a bit shaky – SB was up and down half of the night with a fever and just generally feeling under the weather, and the fire alarm went off at midnight because another hotel guest was smoking in his room, which we all could’ve done without – we got through it, and the rest of the weekend was much better.
It wasn’t without its ups and downs – SB wasn’t really herself all weekend, so she didn’t get much enjoyment out of the Sea Life centre, but we went to the Sandcastle Waterpark, which she absolutely loved, she enjoyed waving at horse-drawn carriages on the sea-front, and she loved it when we went on the tram to avoid any more frozen-toddler scenarios.
We went to Blackpool Zoo on the Sunday, which is brilliant – we spent all day there, a really awesome day out – but SB still wasn’t quite feeling it. The poor sausage loves animals, so we knew something wasn’t quite right when she was fussy and grizzly and didn’t have a huge amount of interest in any of the animals we saw except the giraffes (she kept calling them “raffs”) and the lions (we had a lot of “RARRR” at the lion enclosure).
We went for dinner at a lovely Hungry Horse restaurant in Blackpool called The Cherry Tree – it was busy (being a Sunday afternoon in half term) but the staff were lovely, the food was amazing and – as always – the prices were so low we couldn’t believe it! SB really perked up for this, ate plenty of dinner with no public puking fiascos like a few days earlier, and we really started to see her personality come back a little.
Still, we were all exhausted and ready for home, so we cut the weekend short by a night – we’d already done all we’d intended to do that weekend – and went home that evening. It was so nice to be back in our own home and our own beds, and SB definitely perked up once she was back in familiar territory.
Despite everything that happened, we had a great weekend in Blackpool. And, if nothing else, it’s certainly a story to tell years from now – the weekend SB puked all over the Harry Ramsdens underneath Blackpool Tower.