The best days of the year

by Rick Johansen

One of my closest and wisest friends, who shall from hereon in be referred to as John on the grounds that his name is John, usually manages to find the right words for any occasion. Sometimes, he says something that stays with me all my life and leads me to repeating it to all and sundry, as if I have come up with it myself, something I did yet again last night. It runs like this: “The day you go on holiday is the best day of the year“. There, in one simple sentence, is a statement that to many of us is absolutely true. And for us, we have two of those days.

Today, we travel to Heathrow Airport for a flight that leaves tomorrow. I am notorious for always being extra early for everything and with this holiday to Canada, I am taking things to a new level. We’re getting the first bit of the holiday, the getting to the airport bit, out of the way by staying in an eye-wateringly expensive airport hotel, which necessitated my having to sell a kidney in order to pay for it. This, I hope, eliminates a whole lot of stress that, say a motorway pile-up near Slough or a points failure in Reading might cause. In theory tomorrow, the actual day of the flight, should involve little more than enjoying an eat-as-much-as-you-can breakfast, strolling through the terminal building and clearing security. Ah yes, security. The last hurdle before the holiday begins in earnest.

That best day of the year has a best bit within it, that feeling immediately after security when you have repacked your bag and put your belt back on, hopefully before your trousers plunge to the floor. You pass through so-called duty free, trying not to buy things you really don’t need, and emerge into the cavernous departure lounge, and find somewhere to sit, or in my case somewhere to stand so I can watch planes (I know, I know). I don’t normally care much for large crowds but I can make an exception with airports, not least because I know that soon I will be safely seated in Air Canada’s cattle class with my knees up around my chin for the next – oh God – seven and a half hours.

This all reads like a massive moan and it isn’t, not really. We are very, very lucky to be visiting our Canadian family for the next couple of weeks and given the cost of living crisis affecting so many people, I am acutely aware of the need to not show off about the great time we are, hopefully, having. So, no look-at-me-I’m-wonderful social media mass photo dumps and nothing by way of hedonism, a Facebook trait of which I have been as guilty as anyone. No one minds some nice photos but no one likes pure showing off.

So, I’m testing out John’s advice to destruction yet again. He’s right, of course: the day you go on holiday is the best day of the year. or in our case, the best days, I hope.

 

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