Little brats spoil the party...

I HATE travelling at the best of times and my trip to Portugal was most definitely not the best of times! Being here is great but travelling here was a nightmare.

First there’s the whole horror of packing – as women will know, you need a different pair of shoes for each and every outfit but that doesn’t leave any room for the actual outfits you need the shoes for.
Then there’s the whole checking in thing, trying to get a seat that doesn’t leave you cramped and crippled for the entire flight.
 Next up is the transfer from one airport to another and an eight-hour wait for the connecting flight.
Finally it’s time to walk through to the waiting area at the gate and I’m greeted with what appears to be a kindergarten field trip – a sea of over-excited children on acid.
It seems le tout London and their neighbours had decided they just had to take their screaming brats to Portugal on the same flight as me and the children (as well as the odd mother or two) were running up and down shouting and knocking over poor unsuspecting travellers like pins in a bowling alley.
Now I should qualify the whole thing by adding that I had my 12-year-old son with me, so travelling with children isn’t the bit I’m complaining about - travelling with unruly spoilt little so-and-sos is.
There was screaming and crying throughout the entire two hour and 45 minutes flight and none more vocal than the little girl sitting on the other side of the aisle to me.
It never ceases to amaze me how so many parents will allow their children to run wild and then just shrug apologetically as if to say “what can I do?” 
I sat in morbid fascination watching this particular mother try to bribe her daughter with everything she could get her hands on while the little girl just slapped her mothers hands away and screamed louder with every new offering.
I’m from the old school where the belief that a child’s bad behaviour stems from the parents runs deep.
No, means, no, and the earlier the child learns it the happier life is all round.
When my son was about the same age as this little girl, I picked him up from kindergarten one day and the teacher told me his behaviour was out of control and he never did what he was told. I took him home and put him in his room, sat him down and explained that because of his bad behaviour, he wasn’t allowed out of his room for the rest of the day.
He could play with whatever was in the room and I went in and spent lots of time playing with him and making sure he was alright but no matter how much he asked, cried and bargained he wasn’t allowed out of the room except to go to the bathroom.
It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do because as any mother can tell you, seeing your child unhappy is one of the most painful things a woman can experience but there comes a time when no has to mean no, or you’re making a rod for your own back.
A few days later the same teacher came up to me and told he was a pleasure to have him in the classroom and uncontrollable behaviour has never been a problem since.
Am I boasting? Hell yes! Am I the world’s best mother? Not by any stretch of the imagination and my son can wrap me round his little finger with the tiniest of pouts but when it comes to behaving himself in public he’s a dream and I honestly can’t think of anyone I’d rather have spent 24-hours of nightmare travelling with.