HOLIDAY – WHAT HOLIDAY?

I don’t mean to be churlish, although it has been known, but we’ve just returned from holiday and frankly, I’m exhausted. I’m thinking ofng a Holiday Rehabilitation Centre for knackered parents. I can see it now…

There is one huge hangar-like building, think Millennium Dome. The Dome would contain the children during the day. The floors and walls will be lined with cushioned padding, to prevent accidents and absorb the noise. This giant construction could be divided into sections, each area housing a different entertainment section. Computer games, soft play, chessboards for the smarty pants and every other sort of children’s’ game known to man; Café Areas for eating, Quiet Time Areas for resting and an enclosed but outside area with an Adventure Playground for a little fresh air. To police all these zones an army of trapeze bound circus performers could dangle from the ceiling on harnesses to swoop down and pluck any trouble-makers into the sky. A prospect so terrifying that all the children would play meekly like lambs.

Meanwhile in the luxury hotel next door, parents can relax by the pool, read books in hushed libraries and conservatories and wait for their next massage. Staff on roller blades cruise through the hotel constantly taking orders for food and drink, every need is catered for. Parents need never venture anywhere near a kitchen or a laundry. Light conversation is acceptable but discouraged. If anyone wants to socialise, or feel the need to interact with their fellow parents, they can do so in the Games Room or Music Room. Thus, avoid getting stuck talking to someone who sets your teeth on edge.

At seven o’clock the children will be led in line to their parents. Fed and washed by a gaggle of ex-dinner ladies the boys and girls are now clean and delicious in pyjamas. All families can then settle the children in their adjoining bedrooms upstairs. Stable doors separate these bedrooms; doors fitted with a time-release mechanism. The upper section may bed for checking on sleeping children, the lower sectionng only at breakfast time. Crying children are visited by the ex-dinner ladies, soothed and firmly tucked-in to discourage escapees. Drinks are administered only in emergencies. Breakfast is taken together, between eight thirty and nine o’clock and the children are once more removed to their play-full Dome…

Forget it. It wouldn’t work. Because what would a holiday be without the washing machine that spits out sandier, dirtier, wetter clothes or the oven in the middle of a late-life crisis? Children running from one activity to the next, making as much noise as possible, dropping worn-once clothes in puddles of dripped water as they go. How precious are those moments when you are all having a good time and then they are finally in bed and the tinkle of ice and the latest bestseller, beckon from the garden.

We just have to remember the good things, thank our lucky stars for the great things and remember that holidays aren’t really holidays, they are just life somewhere else.

Life in the Slow Lane is written by Clare Kent. She has three children - Max is eleven, Flo is eight and Bobby is nearly seven - and lives in Wiltshire.

NEXT INSTALMENT: WEDNESDAY 28 AUGUST