The original plan for August was to beach out like a literal whale in her third trimester and not do much at all. I unofficially campaigned for an August-off-off tradition to be instated in this country. True to form though I’ve bolted from my own intentions. Who am I kidding? I’ve never beached out anywhere for longer than a few days. I don’t quite know how to do a do-nothing holiday. The whir of my mind is always going, “But what can we DO/SEE and more importantly EAT?” I take 15 minutes to get comfortable on a poolside lounger and then find the texture of the towel on the chair is rubbing me up the wrong way.
As per my last minute dot com style of organising trips, I’ve cobbled together a Tetris game of a trip to Lake Garda. I’ve never been so might as well try and cram in as much as I can, right, even as I lumber about with what is essentially a heavy sack of potatoes on my front and overpacked luggage (whoever can hand-carry only when travelling with children, I salute you). Five wildly different hotels. Five varying buffet breakfasts . Five tactics of scrambling for optimum poolside seats. Eight days. Alone with my five-year-old daughter as my partner is away for work. We’re currently girls (plus bump) on tour. I looked upon it as quite possibly (touch fake wood in my Enchanted Forest themed hotel room in ageing theme park Gardaland as I type this) the last time she and I will go away on our own, as our family unit once again shifts with new additions to her co-parented setup.
