The Side Eye on...Summer Holidays

After the hell that is homeschooling is finished, there’s little to look forward to. This time last year, you’d have been beating down the doors of Brown Thomas, (Ok, Zara. Ok, Penneys) to bag yourself an uncomfortable ‘coverup’ and an unflattering bikini. The great getaway – two weeks in Greece, or Centre Parcs with the sister in law and her mob, or Eurocamp – was highlighted in the family calendar since you panic-booked it in January.

This time, there’s a sad little question mark added to the ringed fortnight in July. Holiday? A long weekend self-catering in Tramore is your best shot at leaving home during Summer 2020.

Let’s take a moment to remind ourselves what you’ll be missing.

First of all; airports!

The taxi driver will confidently drop you off at the wrong terminal at 5am (‘course I’m sure missus’), and because you didn’t sleep anyway, you’ll have plenty of time to drag your sorry bone-tired self five miles over unforgivingly hard shiny floors to the correct area.

This is just enough of a walk to confirm that those new sandals are indeed half a size too small.

Better suck it up, because those queues – never not long, in peak holiday season – just got a whole lot longer. You’ll have plenty of time to reflect on the happy lockdown days when you could be assured that there was little chance of your bored children skittering into purse-mouthed travellers as social distancing meets Hour 4 in the queue.

Masks on, you’re on the plane, finally. The middle seat is empty, but not to worry, that coughing guy is sitting directly in front of you. You’d murder for a snack and when the trolley comes around, the masks sheepishly drop so that you can stuff something in. Not that it really matters. It’s all the same air going around and around, now just with extra little bits of crisps and baguette added to the viral load.

It’s when you actually get to the holiday that the fun begins. No, actually wait. First there’s the temperature check on arrival and the fun and games of explaining that you’re only red faced and hot because of all the shouting at the children who lost the plot when the bags failed to show and started squirting each other with sanitiser. But when you finally, finally get there – that villa, that longed-for beach, the hotel of dreams, the view you’ve been waiting for – then you can start Holidaying in earnest.

But first, you’ll now have to book your swimming time. Sorry, there isn’t a time available when the whole family can go to the pool together. Would Madam care to book a 6am swim just for Madam? If lounging is your thing, then prepare to lounge amidst a forest of Perspex dividers. No cushions, and paper towels only on the loungers, rather like the ones that the nurse lays over you when you have a smear test. Speaking of towels (or cushions, extra pillows or even curtains), anything above the bare minimum will be removed from your room, which will of course be deep cleaned daily so you’ll have to be out between 8am and 6pm.

There’ll be no minibars and no delicious mini tubes of Pringles either. No breakfast buffets – your disinfected tray with a sad sealed croissant will be delivered to your door – and widely spaced restaurant tables will make mealtimes a cross between an ordeal and an anxiety-inducing performance.

Forget about striking up fascinating conversations with new people. You’ll be assigned a pod – this is sure to include the purse-mouthed ones from Departures – and there can be no socialising outside of your designated pod. And all this may be enforced with a biometric bracelet and the helpful attentions of a spy drone. Happy holidays – wish you were here?

I reckon I’m staying at home.

Jennifer Coyle, June 2020.