FROM HER: I never used to choose where to go on holiday on the basis of how long I could cope with crying coming from the back seat of the car. Then again, I never used to choose clothes on the basis of how well semi-digested breastmilk would blend in to them, but times have changed.
So me and the hubby discuss our options:
Me: What do you want out of a holiday?
Him: I’m happy with absolutely anything, just so long as I’m not at work.
Me: What about Butlin’s?
Him: I’d rather amputate my face.
[Side note: an unusual chain of events meant we ended up at Butlin's Minehead straight after we got married. With my sister. And my brother-in-law. And their four kids. There’s nothing like having your 'first dance' to Whigfield’s Saturday Night to put your new husband off a place for life.]
[Second side note for any family reading: He's always had a really good time at Butlin's, he's just not sure Butlin's is responsible.]
We make a list of absolute must-haves we can both agree on:
Running water A gas oven Some greenery
He suggests staying at home and buying a plant.
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