With hand on my heart, I just look for three things in my holidays – good time, good food, good company.
We honeymoon-ed in a tree house where monkeys hopped on its tin shed roof every time it rained; literally got lost in Scandinavian countryside with no GPS; went on random unplanned road trips…but my favourite holiday has to be our Friday nights together. At home, three of us (husband, our pooch and me) goofing around, good ol’ Old Monk, Netflix, Frank Sinatra on a loop, me ignoring the mess husband creates in the name of helping out in the kitchen. I become deliberately unproductive and just let my hair down till Saturday hits me with a hangover.
That’s my favourite kind of holiday.
We have changed houses four times in three years. I tend to feel overwhelmed and confused every time we are on the move. Even when the houses were less pretty I felt a twinge in the heart before locking the door behind me for the last time. Even when we came to a better house it felt like invading into a stranger’s home. I unpack like a zombie, unsure of how to feel at home. But our Fridays night holidays made every new house feel a little less strange.
These nights are about taking time off and having drunk talks till we doze off. But mostly it’s about making peace with each other and cherishing our safe place.
With hand on my heart, it works better than therapies.