A family holiday can be a near-death experience.
As you probably gathered yesterday, I’ve just been to the coast as part of a group of NINE people, all my immediate family (and partners, and a kid). My parents are unspeakably nerdy (insert “apple falling from tree” comment here), so my mind is now a confused haze of Rummikub, dominoes, Carcassonne, Taboo, bridge, up and down the river, and laughing at the boys actually playing the full version of LOTR Risk. And I’m buzzing on a chocolate-and-lemonade high. And a little nauseous for no apparent reason. And I smell of salt and of sitting by a heater.
It was a strangely peaceful weekend. My nephew is 5 now, so although he’s full of enthusiasm for EVERYTHING, he’s also capable of sitting and having a conversation some of the time. And he doesn’t cry unless he’s actually hurt. With eight adults, looking after him was a breeze. And we all get on – pretty remarkable for any group this size.
So I have absolutely nothing to write about – just cliches of love and warmth. Drama goes best in fiction, in my opinion.
Here’s the last of the “Beautiful Libraries” from Candida Hofer’s Thames&Hudson book:
Tomorrow: Macabre expression of love (there’s a teddy bear involved. . . and a large nail)