My second worst ever holiday was my honeymoon in 1975! We'd booked a caravan on Anglesey, Red Wharf Bay, but a month before the wedding my car, a mark 2 Cortina, was nicked. My dad took us down there on the Sunday, but we were limited to close to the site, as public transport was very sketchy. Still, we had other things to keep us amused. ;-))
Then Sunday night I started with the shits! It must have been amusing for other holidaymakers to see the curtains of a newly wedded couple closing on a regular basis, but the reality was that the toilet was fitted in the broom cupboard, and I couldn't shut the door properly as my knees kept pushing it open, so closing the curtains was the only option.
I phoned my dad on Tuesday night to tell him of my plight, and Wednesday asked him to come and pick us up as I was really ill. Thursday saw me at the doctors, where I got some medication to slow it down, and I was fine by weekend. I'd lost half a stone in 4 days! We laughed about it for years, but at the time it was a nightmare.
Fast forward 35 years, to my worst ever holiday. On holiday in the Dordogne, my wife died in my arms.
it doesn't get worse than that.