I had reservations about going long haul for our first holiday en famille.
The most pressing concern was the flight. Nine hours with a nine-month old — surely a living hell? I’m pleased to report it was a relative doddle and he — remarkably — snoozed through great, blissful chunks of it, even allowing me the pleasure of watching a couple of films. The second worry was the jet lag, but then I remembered: the baby doesn’t sleep at night anyway, so much better to struggle through the exhaustion by a pool with a spicy margarita in hand than in the dreary park at the end of my road.
