Wednesday, April 21, 2010
When I was a kid we went on holiday on the same two weeks every year. It was called 'Trades.'
My Dad worked in a factory. All factories closed for the same two week period and all workers took their vacation then.
Mind boggling in todays 24/7 world.
We spent the first week at church camp, the second week we usually drove down to the south of England in search of the sun.
Most years we stayed in self-catering apartments.
One glorious year stands out.
We went to a hotel. With a pool! It was appropriately named The Palace Hotel.
It is a week burned in my memory.
It was the most magical wonderland I had ever seen. It was a victorian building that looked like a mansion house. The grounds were endless.
My sister and I made friends with all the other children and within five minutes we ran off in a pack.
We saw our parents for meals but otherwise we were in a wonderland of all day play and kid rules.
My daughter just had her Palace Hotel week.
The resort we stayed at was all inclusive. (The two most magical words a Scot will ever hear.)
She had a little bracelet on her wrist that meant she could order whatever she wanted.
She's seven. There was an all day dessert bar with ice cream. A 24 hour pizza kitchen.
Pool staff who would bring nachos on demand.
Then there was the swim up bar.
I sat at my first swim up bar when I was 38.
When I asked her where she was off to one day, she blithely stated,
"Oh, I'm just off to the bar with my friends, to get a drink."
Quick re-cap - SEVEN YEARS OLD.
"What kind of drink sweetie?" I ask with some trepidation.
"A Shirley Temple" she states with absolute authority.
I am both horrified and tinkled pink. They swim off. I walk around the pool to peek at my 'baby' sitting on a stool sipping her drink and giggling with five other kids.
I may not be the only one who wants to go back.