My husband and I were off on our annual seaside holiday. For the past few summers, weve gone to the coast with a gang of friends, all piling into our own cars. The lot of us have a wild streakwe pick a lonesome stretch of beach, pitch our tents, and go full Bear Grylls. By day, we splash about in the sea, sunbathe, and tackle the houseworkmaking tea and hopeless attempts at barbecuing sausages over a disposable grill. Come nightfall, its out with the guitar for off-key singalongs around a campfire, with a modest splash of dry red wine in plastic cups for sophistications sake.
This year, my dear sister-in-law Rebecca fancied joining us, along with her two-and-a-half-year-old son. They squeezed in with my husband, his ever-cheerful mother, and merather like a game of human Tetris. We could have refused, but clearly, we didnt have the backbone. Spoiler: it wasnt little Tommy who put a spanner in the works, it was Rebecca.
The trouble started not ten minutes into the trip. Rebecca requested, nodemandedstops every hour so she could stretch her legs from all her, ahem, exhaustion. Unsurprisingly, we arrived at the beach long after our friends, whod already unpacked, set up their tents, and probably squeezed in a quick swim and a sandwich. Oh well. We eventually made it.
Cue Act Two. Rebecca surveyed our sandy kingdomand launched into a full-blown drama. I absolutely refuse to stay here! she declared.
Why on earth? I said, brow raised to Olympic heights. We told you we were roughing it.
Well, I thought roughing it meant we’d find our own accommodation, not that wed be haggling over hotel rooms with dodgy landlords, she sniffed.
Why on earth do you think we brought sleeping bags and tents, then? grumbled my husband.
I thought you just liked camping equipment! came Rebeccas reply.
In the end, we caved and rented her a room in the nearest B&B for an eyewatering sum in poundsand my brother-in-law had to taxi her back and forth daily. On top of that, chauffeuring her to the tea shop and market, and minding little Tommy every time Rebecca needed a well-earned rest from, well, all her resting.
Ironically, everyone pitched in looking after Tommy, who turned out to be a delightno meltdowns, listened to adults, splashed in the sea, ate whatever was on offer, and napped serenely in the tent. If only his mother had been as agreeable.
Next summer, Rebecca will not be on the guest list. But if little Tommys parents fancy a quiet break, theyre welcome to let him come with us. That boy knows how to holiday.
