This is one of the times of year where I head off on holidays.
In the past when we went to France quite a bit, we tended to go for three or four weeks in September, when it’s a little cheaper, the kids are back at school and the roads are a bit quieter it also beautifully stretched the Summer so Winter wasn’t too long.
Herself was beginning to mutter about long distances though, and there was the dog to consider too, so we switched to West Cork instead and for some reason we went for the first two weeks of June. Again it was off peak season and the weather was usually good [we Irish call it the Leaving Certificate Heatwave, as that’s when all the poor brats are sitting their exams].
Last year we didn’t bother with a holiday at all and just stayed at home. This year is the same.
Having not taken a holiday and not missing it has taught me something about holidays.
Normally we stay in rented accommodation which costs a fair packet. Then there is all the hassle of packing and changing the locks on the house so the daughter can’t move in. And when we get there everything is strange. I like my own mug and my own kitchen implements. I like my cozy armchair where the cushion is permanently shaped to fit my arse.
On holidays I worry about breaking something that isn’t mine. I am permanently aware that I am in someone else’s gaff and that is tiring. Even simple things like getting rid of rubbish are complicated because usually the accommodation doesn’t come with bin collection so I have to drive to the local dump, or the nearest ditch, whichever is nearest. And there is that complete pain in the hole of having to clean the place before heading home again
And then there is the weather. Having gone to all that trouble and having paid an arm and a leg I frankly get pissed off if the sun isn’t splitting the rocks every day. I resent every fucking cloud in the sky, no matter how small it is.
Staying at home is different.
It costs no more than normal life. Everything is familiar. I know that if I turn on the kitchen tap I’m not going to be drenched because the pressure onn holidays is normal whereas here it is almost nonexistent. I know where everything is kept and if I break something then so what. If it rains I stay indoors and if it’s sunny I move outdoors. I don’t have to visit supermarkets and I know that bins are collected on a Friday morning. I know there isn’t a change in scenery but the scenery here is just fine.
In fact the only benefit I can find in a holiday is that while I am away I’m not constantly reminded of all the jobs that have to be done around the place. I don’t have to worry about cutting the grass of fixing the roof or uprooting trees.
On the whole though, I think holidays are overrated.
For the next two weeks: fuck the grass and the roof.