Elie, The Scottish Riviera, 2023 – trip report by Froggee (paterfamilias)
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I woke up on Saturday morning with a sore tummy. It was weird as I hadn’t eaten anything dodgy. Then I remembered – family holiday. Ugh.
We were heading back to Elie for an almost-end-of-nine-weeks-of-relentless-children-but-only-two-weeks-more-to-go break. With the children, obviously. Which means, of course, it would not be a break. I naively booked it in August last year in an attempt to get a beach house with less sand in it than the one we had just stayed in coz all the good houses go quickly. If we could have our decision-making process again, we would have fired both boys into the school’s holiday club for the entire summer as they seem happier there than with us. Or at least, if they are unhappy there, we cannot hear their whining.
I recently read something in the Financial Times that perfectly sums up family holidays:
Robert Armstrong
FT US FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR
Starting a family? Remember this phrase: “It’s not a vacation; it’s a family trip.” I can’t remember what hardened veteran of the parenting wars passed this mantra on to my wife and me, but it proved a crucial support as we raised our twins. It’s not that small children make your holidays hell. The hell comes as a result of believing, in the face of all experience and evidence, that you, parent of small children, get a holiday at all.Oh well, the holiday house is non-refundable, we have been going stir crazy for the five weeks since we got back from our last holiday, and a change of scenery might work wonders. We are going, end of. The boys were suitably rabid and Freddo kept asking me if he could take things in his bag or if they would set off the metal detector. It’s an hour and twenty minutes in the car Freddo, we’re not flying.
Thankfully the boys had judo in the morning which saw them burn off some energy. Mrs Froggee took them while I wandered round the house trying to think what we might have forgotten. A final load of laundry, some spirited last-minute packing, lunch, and we were off. There was a stand-off in the car as Freddo refused to take a Kwells travel sickness pill. The kid got travel sick going to Costco the other day so it was not up for debate. I got Freddo to accept his fate by going back into the house and finding a packet of fruit pastilles so he could wash down the pill. He tried to hold out for a blackcurrant one but his negotiating position was not strong so he accepted lime.
And we were off at 2:25pm. The journey could be summed up as 30 minutes of incessant questions, 30 minutes of blissful quiet and 20 minutes of Freddo complaining about having “fuzzy feet” while vehemently denying that he had fallen asleep.
We went straight to our designated parking spot at “Sahara Park” where we were staying. I guess it is named thusly in a nod to the Scottish riviera’s famously hot and arid climate. It was costing £2,131 for the week which seemed a remarkably precise number. We then walked the five minutes into town, which felt like longer as Kermit repeatedly observed that we could have driven. I deposited the family at Elie’s most excellent ice cream shop while I popped over to the office of East Fife Holiday Homes to collect the keys for our holiday house. Initially I was unable to gain entrance to the office but was ably assisted by an employee who explained that you need to push the door handle all the way down. Because I am an idiot, simple things like door handle technology can still evade me.
I was handed our house keys and just about won the battle with the door handle on the way out. I then returned to the ice cream shop to find Mrs Froggee and the boys eating humongous ice creams. Vanilla for Kermit, chocolate for Freddo and rum and raisin for Mrs Froggee. She had happily paid an extra 15 pence per cone so they could have the premium waffle cones over the basic wafer as there was a £2.85 saving achieved by not getting one for me.
Sad face.
We walked back to the holiday house. I tried to micro manage the boys’ ice cream eating but gave up, leaving Freddo to cover his face and hands with chocolate and Kermit to drop his on the pavement. Kermit cried. I questioned to myself whether his school was really doing as much as they claimed they were to build emotional resilience.
I unloaded the car while Freddo made a grand show of eating his ice cream (outside – no way were we losing the £250 security deposit on the first afternoon). Meanwhile Kermit sulked and Mrs Froggee felt guilty after I casually asked her if she had at least let Kermit have her waffle cone. Our first observation was that the house was much cleaner than last year’s one. Perhaps using a holiday letting firm is a better idea than renting directly from the owner. There was also an absence of passive aggressive notices all over the house which made a refreshing change.
The boys chose their (separate) bedrooms. We unpacked and I headed to nearby St Monans to pick up dinner from the East Pier Smokehouse having reserved a slot exactly 168 hours prior. Because it can be that popular, and it is a brave man who turns up without a reservation, even for takeaway. We were officially on holiday.
Over the next few days, we fell into what very much felt like a routine. A £166.38 Waitrose order arrived on the first morning. Mrs Froggee luxuriated in bed while I got up and fed the boys. I ignored the boys while she gave them lunch. Dinner came from the East Pier Smokehouse, the Ship Inn or the Nineteenth Hole with prices ranging from £67.50 to £119.02. Kermit spent most of his time digging a hole on the beach and getting upset when Freddo jumped in it. Freddo took turns annoying us all. The boys threw sand in each other’s faces. I went for walks up and down the beach. Mrs Froggee built sandcastles and Freddo stood on them. I played catch with Kermit who pleasingly has learned how to catch and throw proficiently in the last year. No emotional resilience but a pretty good throwing arm so maybe the school fees are worth it after all? He let one slip between his hands and took a tennis ball right in his eye socket. And cried. Scratch that on the school fees. I repeatedly used the word “beach” as a verb until Mrs Froggee said she never should have taken me to see Barbie in the cinema. I concurred but that is what she wanted to do for her wedding anniversary. Who am I to disappoint the love of my life by instead suggesting a Michelin starred restaurant or some other similarly naff cliché. If my princess wants Barbie then she gets Barbie.
Our holiday house neighbours had two dogs. They had an older one which could best be described as what you might get if you cross-bred an Alsatian with Andy Capp. The only interest we had from this dog was a brief sniff on the first day. But they had a one-year-old, Lily, who was close to what you might get if you cross bred a Husky with Will Ferrell’s character, Buddy, in Elf. Lily had boundless energy and was a smart cookie. The boys soon got the hang of throwing balls using Lily’s designated ball launcher with Lily giving chase. Amusingly Lily never seemed to bring the ball back to the person who threw it, instead trying to get everyone involved. Lily did manage to burst the “football” we’d brought with us (actually the football bladder we had found washed up on a beach in Jersey) but she could only do this because it was soft as it no longer held air properly. It was swiftly replaced at Elie’s premier newsagent with two balls, a multi-coloured super bouncy one and a more traditional flyaway football. The next day, Lily’s owner told me she had been sick that night as had eaten too much sand from retrieving the ball. Sorry Lily.
A few days into our holiday came the main event of the 2023 calendar being Freddo’s birthday. Mrs Froggee was keen that he had a cake befitting the occasion. Prior to our holiday, I had offered to drive to the big Co-op in Anstruther and buy something. But off-the-shelf would not do. I then suggested that we could get in touch with the Elie Deli to see if they might help. Mrs Froggee promptly did so and after a pleasant exchange of emails, a cake was duly ordered. They don’t make cakes but knew a “cake lady” who was delighted to oblige. The remit was chocolate and penguins and the cost was £60 for a cake for 6-8 people. No deposit was requested because people in Elie are honest.
Mrs Froggee went to the Deli to retrieve the cake and stock up on fruit and other necessities. It was not long before she returned carrying a humongous cake and grocery bags. Because people in Elie are nice, the guy from the Deli had given her a lift back in his car. Mrs Froggee seems to have this effect on people. It is like a Jedi mind trick. The cake was impressive – a three tier chocolate cake with buttercream icing and slabs of Cadbury Dairy Milk, and Cadbury Caramel sticking out of it along with giant chocolate buttons. It featured a cheery penguin made of icing. In terms of serving 6-8 people, it would have embarrassed even 6-8 Americans. I would say each tier might have been good for 6-8 people so maybe serves 18-24? The nice guy from the Deli had expressed interest in the quality of the cake so Mrs Froggee and Freddo duly returned that afternoon with a one quarter slab wrapped in tin foil for him. He seemed happy other than failing to get so much as a word out of Freddo who was “shy”. And we popped some next door for our holiday house neighbours but absolutely, categorically not for Lily given we had made her puke once already.
Because there is no Devil’s Kitchen nearby, we had ordered Devil’s Kitchen pizzas from Waitrose for Freddo’s birthday dinner. But he was not in much of a mood to eat pizza as he had a wobbly tooth that had become increasingly problematic. It was long overdue coming out given that its counterpart had been dislodged several weeks prior by a Portuguese sausage.
After dinner the boys “played” upstairs while Mrs Froggee and I cleared up. We then heard the unmistakable noise of wounded Freddo. We have a saying in the Froggee household that it isn’t a holiday unless Freddo sustains a head injury and Kermit had duly obliged. Happy birthday Freddo. Who would have thought that the corner of a divan bed base would hurt if you throw your brother into it? Not Kermit. A seriously impressive black eye ensued. The next day Freddo got his revenge by morphing a cartwheel into a ninja kick, making solid contact with Kermit’s cheekbone. I digress.
Anyway, it was my turn to read to Freddo that night and he was highly fractious. His tooth hurt and felt weird, his eye hurt when he closed it, and there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. He wanted cucumber so he could bite into it to dislodge the tooth. No snacking after dinner Freddo. I’m pretty sure that my own father at this point would have plucked out the tooth with his bare hands but I am far too squeamish for that so I gave Freddo a hug, promised to “check on him” and left him to discover he was dog tired. Zzzzzzzzz.
The next morning after a solid 12 hours of sleep, Freddo was in much better form and ready for a breakfast of Cheerios and a fruit plate. Two minutes later, “daddy I think I’ve swallowed my tooth”. He did not seem that bothered, actually. I told him he would need to write a note to the tooth fairy and as quick as a flash he informed me that one of his friends at school had done the same and she had got £10 from the tooth fairy. Later that morning when Mrs Froggee rose and said she would check this with the girl’s mum, Freddo was very keen that Mrs Froggee did not do so. Crafty little blighter! That night, I was relieved that Kermit and Freddo were not sharing a room as it was easy to pop in and leave the £2 coin Mrs Froggee had procured from her pal at the Elie Deli. Unlike Kermit, Freddo still falls asleep well before we do.
For completeness, Freddo’s note was scribed in beautiful cursive handwriting and read:
“Dear tooth fairy
I accidentally swallowed my tooth while thinking it was a cronchy cheerio. please can I have a coin? thank you. it was my Birthday yesterday.
love from Freddo”
As our week in Elie continued, I realised I had not been for the traditional walk along the Fife coastal path. The rest of the family were engrossed in Ratatouille (the film, not the dish) so I left them to it. Obviously because Scotland is small, I bumped into my former colleague Swannee, who I had also encountered on our prior family holiday in the Algarve. Annoyingly, he spotted me first and had a suitably witty greeting prepared. I responded by pointing out that his son’s leg was bleeding (which Swannee had not noticed) and we went our separate ways, both of us undoubtedly vowing to take more obscure holidays next year.
I recently heard a quotation, attributed to William Wordsworth that Scotland’s climate is “nine months of winter followed by three months of bad weather” and the last couple of days very much reflected this. Much like dogs, if you keep children indoors, they pee on your carpet. Given the £250 security deposit, we therefore had no choice but to go to the beach. The windbreak was brought out and Mrs Froggee hid behind it. I invented a new game which involved box kicking the recently acquired balls into the wind while the boys attempted to catch them. They invariably underestimated the strength of the wind, resulting in them overrunning and falling over in the sand while failing to catch a ball now whooshing back over their heads. They would then get annoyed when the wind invariably brought the ball back to me without my even needing to move.
At 3:30pm on the Friday I looked up and down Elie’s one-mile-long beach to see absolutely nobody. I could not think why as it was lovely apart from the wind, the rain, and the lack of sun. It was just us crazies. After two afternoons of punting balls my right hamstring was starting to get very sore. With hindsight this was unsurprising given that I stopped playing rugby in 1995 and last played competitive football in 2001. The forecast was for it to get worse with a storm warning for that night and the next morning. Time to give up. We decided to pack up and get out of Dodge that evening rather than “by 10am on Saturday”. We had one last dinner from the East Pier Smokehouse, I loaded up the car in the rain and we were off just after 7pm. I had opted for the Vietnamese Fish Kebab for dinner which had been lovely but did result in the most malodorous burps I think I have ever done. The drive seemed pretty quick to me (other than my right leg cramping up for the final twenty minutes or so) but maybe not for the other occupants of my car.
And that was that. We were home at 8:25pm with no worries about a treacherous drive back the next day. The next day came and it was surprisingly calm and sunny in Edinburgh. I checked the weather to find that the storm had passed overnight and Elie was sunny and warm.
The end.
I enjoyed that! Cheers!
+1
Long may family Froggee holidays continue!
You could have went to Elie Holiday Park.Got a caravan/lodge, saved a fortune. Boys may have met some other little frogs to play with and you and Mrs Froggee could have gave it the Cha Cha Slide,the Slosh etc in the Clubhouse in the evening
That was yet another entertaining tale. The only thing I don’t understand is why you refer to going to see Barbie as something she wanted to do on “her wedding anniversary”? Surely it was yours as well??
That was yet another entertaining tale. The only thing I don’t understand is why you refer to going to see Barbie as something she wanted to do on “her wedding anniversary”? Surely it was yours as well??
Oh doops – pressed the wrong button again. Sorry @AJA.
I think the whole wedding thing must have been another one of Mrs Froggee’s Jedi mind tricks. She has photographic evidence that it happened and it appears I did sign a piece of paper. And I still get the heebie-jeebies at Gleneagles (where she says we spent the wedding night) so something must have happened there. But my wedding? I’m not convinced.
Many thanks as ever Froggee, a relaxing holiday by your usual standards?
@Froggee as long as Mrs Froggee thinks she is married to you and you are both happy with that then all is good….
My advice, for what it’s worth, is just avoid Gleneagles.
Froggee I have just had a truly rubbish day dealing with an idiotic toddler-level staff feud (wish one would just slap the other – don’t care which way round – so I could just sack someone and get on with life). …….anyway….. Then that cheered me right up! Thanks so much!!
Although I am also furious that I am clearly being had, as the chocolate-waffle-cone premium is far higher than 15p in ice-cream establishments I visit 😀
Enjoyable read – thank you!
Excellent Froggee.
Many thanks Froggee, you made my 2 hour journey on ET much better yesterday.
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