Monday, 10 May 2010

Home is where the heat is

I love going on holiday. I love the planning, I love the travelling (although this enjoyment has definitely waned since travelling with a young child) and I love the fact that I can lie on a beach all day and then feel tired at the end of it (again, not so much recently). I was really looking forward to our trip to France - a romantic farmhouse in rural Normandie - I had visions of country walks, pain au chocolat and drawn out dinners with good conversation and good glass of wine.

Wrong. Totally, utterly and disappointingly wrong. Why? Mainly because a farmhouse made of stone with no bloody central heating is absolutely freezing. I actually think it was warmer outside the house. H struggled - his lips were blue for most of the trip - and he tended to wake up at about 3am everyday because he was probably worried he was becoming an ice cube. That was my rest out of the window.

In my opinion, there is nothing worse than being cold. I can deal with hunger better, and that's saying something. Especially in my current condition. Yes, a bit of breeze is one thing. I draw the line at having to wear two pairs of socks to bed - especially in May. And when I've already cranked up the electric blanket setting to maximum. I ask you.

Arriving home was a relief. There may not be any pain au chocolat (well, actually there are, because in order to remain sane, I insisted on some shopping to escape the cold - even the shops were warmer) but there is heat and no requirement for bed socks whatsoever. And the next holiday? No thanks, you'll find me in my nice cosy house where my kids will be sleeping because it's not sub-zero temperatures!

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