My husband and I used to spend our holidays by the seashore. For several years, we would journey to the coast with a group of our close friends, each travelling in our own cars. We were rather fond of the wild life, preferring to choose a quiet stretch of English coastline and pitch our tents there.
During the sunlit hours, we would splash about in the sea, lounge on the sand, and see to meals or other simple chores. When dusk fell, wed gather round a crackling campfire, strumming familiar tunes on the guitar and sharing a glass of dry wine beneath the stars.
It was on such a holiday, some years past, that my sister-in-law, Catherine, joined our little troupe. She brought along her young son, just over two years old at the time. With my mother-in-law in the mix as well, we were packed rather tightlylike sardines in a tin, one might say.
Looking back, I realise that, although wed been persuaded against our better judgement, our troubles did not stem from the little boy but from Catherine herself. The difficulties began on the journey down. She insisted we stop after every hour on the road, claiming weariness and the need to stretch her legs. As a result, we arrived at our chosen spot only after the others had long set up camp and even enjoyed a swim.
No sooner had we reached the site, Catherine exclaimed, I absolutely refuse to stay here!
Why on earth not? my husband asked, exasperated. We told you we camp out, fully wild!
I thought wild meant wed find our own lodgings, not that wed skip off to a hotel through some agent, she replied.
Why do you think we packed sleeping bags and tents? my husband growled.
Well, I assumed you meant camping, not this! said Catherine, flustered.
In the end, we had to rent her a room at a local inn. My brother was tasked with the daily duty of fetching her and her son each morning, bringing them to join us, and escorting them back in the evening. Not only this, but he took her to every café and market in the village, and watched the boy so Catherine could rest from her rightful labours.
Still, we all lent a hand with her son. He was a cheerful, easy-going childnever fussy, listened well, played in the waves, ate without complaint, and napped soundly in the afternoons, quite content in his tent. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for his mother.
Next year, when summer returns, I know well not be inviting Catherine again. But if his parents will allow, wed gladly take our nephew along. He is quite a remarkable little fellow.
