Yup, I’ve just been on one.
Now, obviously, before I had kids, I was wantonly in favour of holidays: long ones, short ones, foreign ones, domestic ones, lazy ones, active ones, ones where I just stayed at home and played The Sims for 36 hours straight. Oh, holidays…In short, I loved them, always having been a work to live kind of person.
Now, of course, holidays mean only one thing: 24 hour childcare. As the ‘foundation parent’, this represents not so much a holiday as overtime. And my love is well, not so much. You’re feeling me, right? From being an enthusiastic, intrepid, often solo traveller to far flung remoteness, I now find myself dreaming of going to Centre Parks with children old enough to be left in the care of semi-qualified teenagers all day while I sit back and dream of the days when a beach holiday was actually relaxing and involved noon-time naps, afternoon cakes and copious quantities of frozen alcohol.
This is what they never tell you about having kids. Damn them.