Just don’t mention the weather


Can I not turn on the news or pick up a paper without screaming about the weather? The UK news media liken what would be a warm day where I live as akin to the UK living in hail and brimstone. Beelzibub and his minions are stalking the hell-like streets. Pah! However, here in Malta this summer has been hot enough to poach an egg in my underpants. I like the beach as much as anyone but I cannot understand people flocking to be staked out on the sand with the sun hot enough to turn their bodies the colour of condemned veal. Certainly most locals shake their heads in disbelief at the tourists gently sizzling on the shoreline. So instead, my wife, the French bulldogs and I enjoy the view of the Mediterranean from the comfort of the air conditioning, with the occasional sprint into the pool. Even the dogs hop across the garden flagstones to jump into the flowerbed to pee. Forget booties for the snow, you need them to protect your tootsies from turning into ten chipolatas!

...and another thing

I was brought up in the UK’s northern climes where I swear you could go rusty as it’s always so damp. So I saw holidays as by necessity going somewhere hot enough that if I lay in a hammock I would be spit roasted and when cooked want to dive into the water in my own haze of steam. However, now that I live somewhere that has both, for the first time in my life when you say summer holiday I don’t think of sun and sea.

This has got me wondering about what people who are lucky enough to be both born in the sun and sea really see as their break. I am surprised that the ski slopes aren’t full of Caribbean Islanders or Australians don’t flock en masse to the  Emerald Isle. I have certainly never done five days straight in Ireland without rain.

Did Nanook of the North and Eskimo Nell dream of the Costa Brava whilst Tarzan and Jane secretly desired a week’s ski-ing in Jackson Hole?

And do Santa, Dasher, Prancer, Dancer and Rudolf, etc. fancy a safari in down time?

...and another thing

It seems certain country’s holidaymakers run off for their two weeks doing things totally unconnected to the opposite weather conditions of where they live.

Why do the Dutch decide the best way to spend a break is fill up their motorised rabbit hutch with chocolate sprinkles and Dutch potatoes and drive these motorhomes and caravans thousands of kilometres to somewhere with decent food and cheap hotel rooms with showers?

The Japanese idea of a break is clearly to become fishes. They collect in shoals, the women dressed in thick 80 dernier tights and hello kitty knapsacks and the men in white pork pie hats and light blue anoraks, slavishly following a tour guide with a long stick poked into the air. At least the mobile phone has cut the clutter of Nikons they carried, though these have now been replaced by selfie sticks.

...and another thing

The one thing I am certain about my breaks, however, is wherever I go, it won’t be during the busy tourist season. Air travel these days has moved from the glamour of days gone by to being squished onto a flying charabanc. If there is one thing I do need to escape from living in the second most overpopulated country in Europe (Monaco is top if you must know), it’s crowds.

Oh for a lottery win and membership to the PJ club (private jet) of NetJets. At least my son is now a pilot there. Maybe I could apply for a job as a Steward?

Stay safe.

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