Cousins
I feel rather lucky.
I have lots of family living in the same town as me, but I also have a brother-in-law in the south of France.
It had been three years since we’d last seen Tom and the children. Three years was beginning to feel like a very long time. Marlon and Luna were so much younger when we last visited, and our own children had grown just as quickly.
Then we were all together again.
While the adults took half an hour to catch up on everything that had happened over the previous three years, the children picked up exactly where they’d left off.
They didn’t need catching up.
They just got on with being children.
Within minutes they were in the pool together, inventing games as though they’d seen each other only yesterday.
I couldn’t help wondering if children understand something adults forget.
That friendships don’t always need maintaining.
Sometimes they just need restarting.
Three years apart.
Three minutes in a swimming pool.
That was all it took.
As the week drew to a close, the excitement of arriving quietly gave way to the sadness of leaving. Nobody said very much, but you could feel it. Another three years suddenly seemed far too long.
Perhaps that’s what family really is.
Not how often you see each other.
But how quickly it feels normal when you do.
The Departure Lounge
I’m not sure where the holiday begins.
Is it here?
If it is, it’s the only part where everyone wants time to pass as quickly as possible.
We’ve cleared security and survived the duty-free shop. The children still have most of their holiday money. I resisted the giant Toblerone.
We find seats by the window so the children can watch the planes. We order tea rather than beer. There’ll be plenty of beer over the next week. A good cuppa, however, can’t be guaranteed.
The excitement builds.
So does the need to know exactly where the passports are.
The children are doing brilliantly. They’re excited, trying hard to be patient. The occasional slouch in the chair is the only clue that waiting is becoming difficult.
We watch our flight slowly climb the departure board, inching ever closer to the top. Around us are families, couples and solo travellers, all waiting.
We find ourselves trying to guess where everyone is going. Can you tell where someone is going by the clothes they’re wearing? Who will be travelling with us?
A game of cards.
A trip to the toilet.
Another check that the passports are still exactly where they were five minutes ago.
Beneath the departure board sits a young couple with a baby who can’t be more than a month old. My daughter is smitten. Every now and then she looks across, hoping to catch the baby girl’s eye.
When our gate is finally announced and we realise they’re boarding the same flight, she’s delighted.
I don’t need to worry about them.
They’ll be worrying enough themselves.
I hope she sleeps.
A Packet of Crisps
One of my favourite things to do on holiday is visit the supermarket.
The big hypermarkets are extraordinary places where you can buy almost anything. It’s the little supermarkets, though, where you pick up snacks for the beach or food for a picnic, that I enjoy most.
As a child, I remember the confusion of not being able to find my favourite crisps. Now it’s those unfamiliar flavours that make me feel like I’m truly on holiday.
In my memories they’re always paprika flavoured.
This year they’re caramelised onion.
And I realise now that, years from now, my own children will probably remember this holiday by the taste of those crisps and bottles of peach iced tea.
For me it was paprika crisps and Orangina.
Does Orangina even exist when you’re not on holiday?
While wandering through the local village we sent Finley and his cousin Marlon to buy snacks for later.
“Don’t worry Dad,” Finley said, “I won’t get loads of sweets.”
When they wandered back carrying a bulging paper bag, I couldn’t help but laugh. We spent the evening passing around unfamiliar crisps and strange sweets, tasting things we’d probably never buy at home.
It’s funny what becomes part of a holiday.
This year it’ll be caramelised onion crisps and peach iced tea.
For me, it’ll always be paprika crisps and Orangina.
From Behind the Counter
Shed
The only thing I don’t like about this card game is the name.
It worked when I was younger, but now I’m a parent and want to play with the kids, we’ve taken to calling it Shed instead.
There are a few variations, but the essence of the game might just be perfect.
The Artist – Lucy Steeds
Danielle isn’t a big reader, but every summer she asks her friend Victoria for a few recommendations.
This summer they must have been good, because this is the second book she’s finished.
It’s not often I see her completely absorbed in a novel, and she talked about this one for days.
It must be good.
The Greasy Pole
The legendary event returned to Whitby Regatta this year.
People often say Regatta isn’t what it used to be. They’re probably right.
But seeing the harbour lined with spectators once again reminded everyone why this event has been missed.
Well done to everyone who helped bring it back, and to those brave enough to take part.
