My dad’s already talking about going to Cyprus together – which wouldn’t be that strange, if we hadn’t just come back.
In fact, we hadn’t even made our way to the airport – or left the inner sanctum of the hotel resort in Limassol – when my 70-year-old father sprinted (yes, sprinted) ahead to try and reserve the same rooms next year, leaving the rest of us rolling our suitcases into the lobby.
