Holidays? They're hell!

Just back from your summer getaway and feel like you need a rest? VG Lee can sympathise. For her, the annual nightmare is just beginning

So Ted,’ I continued, ‘give one sachet, morning and evening to Tommy Thomson, biscuits only for Boysie otherwise he’ll be sick and a mix of both for Ugly Bugs. I’ll be home Sunday week. Might bring you back a sombrero.’

He finished off the last of his Eccles cake. ‘I’d rather you didn’t. I’d prefer a leather bracelet.’

My neighbour, Ted, has become very fashion conscious. In his cut-off combats, collarless denim shirts and grizzled beard, he’s beginning to resemble a pocket-sized Sean Connery!

Next week I’m off to sunny Spain with my author friend, which sounds grander than it is. Her new book, Keeping Your Guinea Pig Happy – The Holistic Path has only sold 18 copies so far although she has high hopes that West Worthing’s Small Rodent Fanciers Club are going to feature it as their Book of the Month.

We’re picking up a coach at Ashford and will travel for 23 hours, only stopping for comfort breaks. It is amazing how many travellers find it comforting to leave the coach at 2am, 4am, and 6am to eat burger and chips. ‘But whyever don’t you fly?’ I’m frequently asked.

‘The only person left who is willing to go on holiday with me just happens to be phobic about flying,’ I reply.

‘Give her half a Valium. That should knock her out.’

‘She’s not a half a Valium woman. She’s a bottle of whisky to calm her nerves woman.’

The last time we flew together was coming back from Malta.

She turned to the honeymoon couple entwined in the seats next to her, rested her chin on the bride’s shoulder and said, ‘You do realise that we’re all going to die?’ Friend’s tone of voice was cheerfully conversational; still it did have a negative effect on all the passengers within earshot. The air hostess abandoned her Duty Free trolley and hurried over. ‘You must stop saying that. You’re frightening everyone.’

Author friend most apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry. Really. I’ll read my book from now on.’

As soon as the air hostess and trolley moved away, author friend leant out into the aisle and yelled after her, ‘We are all going to die.’

Two years ago, we made one final attempt to go by plane although we never actually flew.

‘I’ll get my mojo back amongst the Norwegian fjords,’ she said.

(I wish I was at ease mentioning ‘my mojo’… whatever it might be.)

At dawn on the morning of the flight she arrived at my flat in her pyjamas. ‘Don’t make me go,’ she sobbed.

I said, ‘But what about your mojo?’

‘I’ll just have to manage without it,’ she said.

Ted stopped me in the middle of the above anecdote. ‘What happened to those two pals you went to Benidorm with afew years ago? They seemed to have their heads firmly screwed on their shoulders.’

‘Heads firmly screwed on shoulders does not necessarily good holiday companions make, Ted.’ I pushed my remaining Eccles cake towards him. ‘Tabby and Audrey refused to chip in for sun beds and an umbrella.’ Ted took a bite, showering crumbs on my pre-holiday, Hoovered floor, ‘That’s not the end of the world.’

‘It is when the outside temperature is 35 degrees centigrade.’

‘So, why won’t anyone go on holiday with you?’

‘Rumour has it that I’m a fusspot,’ I replied, taking my Dust Buster off its hook on the back of the door, ‘Lift your feet please, Ted. I just want to get at those crumbs.’

On my Benidorm holiday, I observed that there seems to be one or two people in a group of three people, who have nothing smaller in their wallets than 50 Euro notes. (I hope I’m not treading on any toes here.)

On arriving at our apartment, Audrey got out of the taxi first to ‘stretch her ankles’.

‘Shall we split it?’ I addressed the back of Tabby’s head.

‘No change,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘We’ll settle up later.’

I experienced my first flutter of anxiety. Would my entire holiday be spent waiting to ‘settle up later’?

As my friends rattled their suitcases at top speed across the courtyard, not even pausing to admire the sea view, I settled up with the taxi driver. Then not pausing to admire the sea view either, I raced after them. As I panted into the kitchen I saw that their suitcases had been distributed elsewhere. Of course Tabby had already annexed the best bedroom.

‘I must have space,’ she said, banging on her breast as if defending a deeply held belief. ‘Or I can’t breathe.’

But you breathe perfectly well in Bromley, in a bedroom the size of a oneperson jail cell, I think but don’t say! Instead I smile and shrug in what I intend to be a laid-back manner. ‘I’m fine with one of the twin beds.’

Audrey looked troubled. ‘My cough will keep you awake.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I could sleep through an earthquake, although I hope I won’t have to!’

She patted my arm. ‘You’ll be much better off out here in the kitchen, on the sofa. There’s a lovely glimpse of the terrace through the front door.’

But a) I won’t be able to appreciate my glimpse of the terrace when it’s dark, and b) I’m hardly going to sleep soundly with the front door open.

‘Oh don’t mind me, Mr Mugger, I’m penniless. Pop in and see the two ladies in the proper bedrooms. They’re loaded with Euros.’

Ted picks up my spare set of keys and pushes back his chair. He steps out onto my patio. Rain pours down from a leaden sky ‘I don’t know why you want to go abroad in the first place when you’ve got Eastbourne on your doorstep,’ he says. ‘Don’t forget my leather bracelet.’ I think I’ll buy him the sombrero.

VG Lee’s new novel, Always You, Edina (Ward Wood Publishing, priced £9.99).

www.vglee.co.uk