If like me you made the mistake of self-isolating with your family, by now you need a holiday. So here’s a handy guide of how to holiday at home.

Sun Worshipper:

Muscles ache, skin pale? You need a hit of summer sun. Step one, turn the thermostat up to thirty degrees and move all table lamps into your room. Tape the lamps to your roof and run an extension cord. There is now a small star burning down upon you.
Next, flip flop through to the kitchen/tiki bar and make enough sangria to fill a fish tank. For this you need a couple of bottles of red. Granny wiped out the wine stash on lock down day one, so I improvised. That greasy bottle of back cupboard balsamic did nicely. Next you’ll need a litre of orange juice. My Child Sister wiped out the squash stash on lock down day three (rude), so I improvised. I found a litre of vodka in the Christmas cupboard and poured in a packet of Berocca. Once you have the volcano of vodka under control, combine ingredients in the washing up bowl and flip flop back to your room. Remember; leave the mess, you’re on holiday :).
Now we can relax. Lie back on your bed and regenerate, isn’t that sun just lovely?. Ignore sounds of Mother stomping up to the thermostat. Finish the sangria and slide a sombrero over your eyes. Drift off to the soothing sounds of Mother berating Child Sister. Ignore boiler squealing – imagine dolphins.


Le Alpes:

Awoken to a chilly room and mild hangover? Can you See your breath? That’s because the boiler’s on holiday too. Child Sister is in trouble now. Shame. Put on your salopettes then briskly walk to the kitchen/snow machine. Find all white powders, from flour to baking soda to carbolic acid. Sprinkle liberally round the house in pursuit of winter wonderland. Open all windows fully, then make snow angels in the bathroom.
It’s time to hit the slopes. Glue baking trays to your slippers and find a good set of stairs. If, like me, you’re holidaying in a bungalow, find a high piece of furniture and ski jump. The piano works well. Limp back towards your chalet using the mop as a crutch. Hear the shouts of Mother echo around the Alps as she slips on fresh powder. Move in the shadows and listen to Mother blame Young Sister for recent climate change. Slip into bed and hibernate – ignore feeling in stomach.

Day 1 of Silent Yoga Retreat:

Choose a soothing location and unroll your yoga mat. I’d left mine at the flat so improvised with the couch. Choose a gentle soundtrack to aid meditation, I found the Game of Thrones box set worked well in the background. Spend the day still and silent – be in the moment.

Day 2 of Silent Yoga Retreat:

Rid yourself of anxiety and negativity. Barricade the door with heavy furniture. You should reach Nirvana and season four.

Day 3 of Silent Yoga Retreat:

Mother chases you from the couch. The retreat concludes.

Self 2


It’s time to walk with the animals. Dig out your khakis and fashion a pair of binoculars from two toilet rolls. Stalk into the living room and wait. Sat on the couch we see mother’s partner, the large homo sapien Billy at rest. Hide in a corner. Binoculars pressed to your eyes, watch the beast in its natural habitat; drinking tea and picking its nose. Floorboards creak as the alpha female enters. Five foot seven and a hundred and fifty pounds. She’s in her prime. Mother heads straight towards the Billy and asserts her dominance:
‘Did you finish the toilet paper?’
The Billy looks confused. Watch as the confrontation escalates – one of the herd may be killed. As the action unfolds, retreat to a safe distance and use binoculars for a better view. The two mighty beasts come into sight, panting. Both have seen something on the horizon.
If, like me, you’ve found yourself spotted, slowly back away. Make calming dove sounds and avoid eye contact. If this doesn’t work, drop the binoculars and run to your room. You may receive a knock from the holiday rep:
‘We need to talk’.

Congratulations, you’ve holidayed at home.

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