By Yours Truly, the Sunshine-Seeker Extraordinaire
Running three businesses is always a juggling act. There’s never a moment when something isn’t demanding attention. Add to that my thrilling commitments to both the Town Council and the District Council—it’s meetings here, paperwork there, and a whole lot of “trying not to strangle someone over planning permissions.” Frankly, by the time January rolls around, I’m one misplaced email away from needing a full mental reset. And what better way to do that than with a week in the sunshine? A chance to switch off, soak up some vitamin D, and sip something fruity by the pool.
But oh, how naïve I was to think booking a last-minute holiday would be a breeze. It turns out that chasing sunshine on a whim is not for the faint-hearted. Forget a relaxing start to the holiday—the real battle begins before you even leave your sofa.
Let’s start with the obvious: sunshine. This isn’t Britain in July, where you might get a lucky streak of decent weather. No, if you want guaranteed sunshine in January, you need to look beyond Europe. The Mediterranean is a no-go unless your idea of “warmth” is a brisk 14 degrees with a side of gale-force winds. No, my friends, you need the Canary Islands—the dependable darlings of winter holidays, with their 27-degree bliss all year round.
But here’s the thing: Tenerife and its Canary siblings are no longer the bargain destinations they once were. Gone are the days when Tenerife was the affordable refuge of budget-conscious sunseekers. Back in the halcyon days of 2021, when the travel bans were lifted post-COVID, they were practically begging us to visit. Hotels were rolling out red carpets, flight operators were cutting deals, and all-inclusive weeks in the sun—including flights, transfers, food, and enough sangria to drown a small village—were going for just £700 per person. Not bad, eh?
Fast forward a few years, and the game has changed. The same hotel, the same room, the same slightly wobbly sun lounger by the pool? Nearly £1,800 per person. £1,800! To be clear, I’m not expecting a bargain-basement price, but if I’m forking out nearly two grand, I expect them to throw in a private butler, unlimited champagne, and maybe a parade in my honour. Honestly, the nerve of it. At those prices, I’d need to sell a kidney just to cover the deposit.
So, Tenerife was out. Time to look elsewhere. Surely there’s another sunny spot that won’t break the bank? Enter Egypt. Ah, Sharm el Sheikh—where the sun is scorching, the reefs are dazzling, and the deals are suspiciously cheap. £500 for a week? Flights, all-inclusive food, drinks, and everything? It sounds too good to be true. Spoiler alert: it is too good to be true. A quick glance at the Foreign Office website reveals phrases like “political unrest,” “exercise caution,” and my personal favorite, “threat of terrorism.” Nothing screams “relaxing getaway” like constantly glancing over your shoulder.
So, back to the drawing board. And that’s when Mexico caught my eye. Cancun, specifically. Endless beaches, crystal-clear waters, tacos as far as the eye can see, and the bonus of tequila at breakfast without anyone batting an eyelid. The price? Just about doable—£1,000 for the week, including flights and all-inclusive perks. The catch? It’s an 11-hour flight each way.
Let me break that down for you. Eleven hours. In economy. That’s roughly 660 minutes of enduring the world’s tiniest legroom, dodging elbows from the enthusiastic recliner in front of you, and pretending you don’t mind when the person in the middle seat decides to eat an entire tuna sandwich mid-flight. Sure, once you’re there, it’s paradise. But by the time you’ve unpacked, adjusted to the jet lag, and worked out where the pool bar is, it’s almost time to re-pack and endure another 11 hours in a flying sardine tin.
And then there’s the matter of guilt. Oh yes, because as if the stress of booking wasn’t enough, someone always pops up to remind you about global warming. “Flying is terrible for the planet,” they say. “You should think about your carbon footprint.” Well, you know what? At this point, I’d welcome a bit of global warming. If it means I can have a barbecue in February or not scrape ice off my car every morning, I’m all for it. But alas, instead of sunshine, I’m stuck in dreary Britain, staring out at grey skies and wondering if my umbrella can handle another gale.
So, here I am, staring at holiday deals and weighing my options. Do I fork out a small fortune for Tenerife? Risk life and limb in Egypt? Or endure a long-haul flight to Mexico? The clock is ticking, my stress levels are rising, and my skin is getting paler by the second.
Meanwhile, my inner pessimist whispers: “Just stay home. Save the money. Put it towards something sensible, like roof repairs or a new boiler.” But my soul rebels at the thought. A week of damp drizzle and lukewarm tea is no substitute for sun-soaked beaches and bottomless mojitos.
So, dear readers, if you happen to stumble across a sunny destination that doesn’t involve a second mortgage or political unrest—or an 11-hour flight wedged between a snorer and a crying baby—please let me know. In the meantime, I’ll be here, scrolling through holiday deals and dreaming of a world where last-minute getaways don’t feel like a logistical nightmare wrapped in financial ruin.