Summer Holiday

Mrs. Bison has raised the subject of summer holidays and asked me to give her some dates that I could commit. It's the middle of April, it's been pissing down for two days and we're expecting snow, so I find it hard to get very excited about the prospect of summer. I know, most normal people would be happy to plan holidays, desperate to lose themselves in a vision of sunshine rather than confront the miserable reality of a seemingly endless winter. I, on the other hand, loathe all aspects of holiday planning. I won't stay in hotels because that's hardly a holiday for me, and I hate wasting even more time in airports, or trusting myself to economy airlines that I just know treat all customers like dogshit.

For me a good holiday involves little planning. When I was eighteen I had a few weeks after finishing school but before starting University, when I was working in a newsagent's shop to earn a bit of money. My friend Del and I decided to go on a camping holiday for a week so I quit my job and he bought a slightly less awful car. He provided the tent and we threw basic provisions in the back of the car and drove down to Kent, in the South of England. Basic provisions mostly consisted of cans of bitter and pale ale.

This was one of the best holidays of my life, for the following reasons:

1. We didn't plan anything beyond having a tent, car and beer, plus a general decision to head South for the coast.
2. We didn't spend much money (although it seemed a lot at the time) and the ratio of fun had to money spent was excellent.
3. If we wanted to stop somewhere an extra night we did. If we wanted fish and chips we ate it. If we didn't feel like getting up, we didn't.
4. We encountered many stupid people and took the piss out of them.
5. We drank many pints of fine Whitbread bitter in country pubs.
6. We did absolutely NO sightseeing.

I'd like to re-create the feeling of that holiday but it wouldn't work now. Del and I lost touch for about 20 years afterwards, and I'm sure he's got a different car now. Maybe even a better tent. The secret at the time was low expectations - all we needed was pub food, beer and the seaside.

Last year we went to South Carolina. It wasn't a bad holiday but the day we spent exploring Charleston in the rain was the epitome of the shit family holidays I swore I would never have when I grew up. There's no fucking reason to go to Charleston, trust me. When we were kids we would go to some inexpensive holiday destination and then spend a week visiting places looking at things. Stately homes, castles, gardens. It frequently bored the living shit out of me. When I go on holiday I want to relax. That means sit around, play games, get up late, be lazy. I certainly don't want a fucking schedule, where I have every day planned out with some wholesome family activity. Mrs. Bison, to her credit, understands this and we can survive most holidays without major domestic upheaval.

Nevertheless, when she says it's holiday time, the visions of Charleston in the rain come flooding back and I'm getting the urge to put some beer in the back of the car and disappear.

Copyright 2007 Edward Bison