Portugal 1999 was another good memory for me. We went with mum’s family so again dad was in his element. One evening the four of us (mum, dad, Scott and I) went for a lovely meal. Dad was already half-cut before we ordered and continued to drink throughout the meal. He became quite rowdy, so we sent him home with our key so we could eat in peace and he wouldn’t be smacked in the chops by annoyed eaters. We specifically told him to stay awake and not go anywhere near the bed when he got back as we would not be long. What a silly thing to do, surely after ALL those years of him getting drunk we would know what would happen? The three of us made our way back to our apartment, it was late, dark and if I’m honest a little creepy. We knocked on the door willing dad to come and let us in but there was nothing. We tried again, and again and again. Then Scott started to get a bit fed up and knocked a little harder, calling out to him, nothing. I was only 19 and Scott was 22, the gentleman that he was he decided to stay by the door in case dad answered and sent me and mum of on a mile long walk to the reception, in the dark, passing gangs of Portuguese lads to get a spare key. The next morning dad (in his words) told us he awoke to use the toilet, he’d had delhi belly and rather than use their en-suite (in other words he was too scared to wake mum) he used mine and Scott’s bathroom to “shit through the eye of a needle”. On his return to bed he noticed two keys sitting on the table, instantly realising his faux-pas he got back into bed in terror knowing that a few hours later he would be facing, yet again, the wrath of his wife and kids.