I’ve spent the last fortnight editing a couple of guidebooks, one for New York and the other for Orlando. Combine that with the recent summery weather and you’ll see why my mind has turned towards a spot of R&R.
When our boys were little we did the rounds of the English seaside resorts, which was lovely at the time (even if number 1 son always had his head in a book and wouldn’t have known if we were in Torquay or Toronto), but those days are over. They’re off doing their own thing, which is as it should be. But what do we aged parents do now?
T'other half and I have never really got the hang of the holidays. We’ve always struggled to find somewhere that suits us both. He starts to wilt as soon as the mercury nudges 20, so such forays as we have made to warmer climes have always been somewhat hindered by sunburn and the constant search for ice-cream and cold beer (so not all bad, then!).
On the other hand, my blood stops flowing when it senses freezing point approaching. We’ve been skiing several times, but the unavoidable combination of cold, altitude and fear always gave me a nosebleed. It was only the promise of hot chocolate that kept me going. I would cling for dear life to the button lift and then descend the slopes with such concentration that the rest of my group would have gone down, up and down again before I rejoined them. I would say that it’s because I like to do things properly and was working on my technique, but actually I was just a scaredy-cat.
So perhaps separate holidays are the answer. He can go golfing and fossil-hunting, and I’ll settle for a bit of culture somewhere sunny but not hot, where I can get a nice cup of tea.