Holiday

We weren’t going to go on holiday this year.

After moving house and getting all our building work done, we’re not exactly flush.

In fact, we lifted up our piggy bank, tipped it up and shook it so hard that not only did every last penny fall out but so did the pig’s lower intestine.

Then my mate came up with a plan. 

She’s off to the Cotswolds for a week, and her house is going to be empty. So she phoned me and asked if we’d like to holiday in her home.

It’s not a cottage near the beach. It’s not next to any major tourist attractions. It’s only about 25 miles away from where we live, and just down the road from where we used to live.

But it’s a lovely house, with a big back garden, and lots of toys for the kids. It’s familiar to my daughter, which makes it a safe, understandable and friendly place.

More specifically, it’s somewhere else, a change of scene, and will involve the packing of a suitcase, the playing of the holiday playlist in the car, the sleeping in a different bed, the staying up late watching kids’ films, the stocking the freezer up with lollipops, the smell of sun cream (hopefully), water gun fights, and a few well-earned beers (these are for us parents, not the kids, that would be wrong).

Arrivederci.

Video is The Dandy Warhols - Every Day Should Be A Holiday

I just had a visceral flashback watching that music video. Me and my husband saw The Dandy Warhols perform in a dodgy little venue in Milton Keynes 14 years ago, when my daughter was a bump in my belly. We left just before the end, as it was boiling hot and I was feeling a little dizzy. I remember the muffled sound of them playing this as we walked through the car park, and how we sat listening to it in the car with the windows wound down. God, music can teleport you, sometimes, can't it?