After my marriage ended, I blithely thought it would be easy to enjoy holidays as a single parent. I soon found out they were either outrageously expensive, or they seemed only suitable for “traditional” families, or they were so cheap that I came home more knackered than when I’d left.
My first attempt, camping with friends, was fine until I had to pack up the tent. Four hours of wrestling with it in the heat later, I hated camping. Next, the adventure holiday for single-parent families. The abseiling and caving were brilliant, but sleeping in a bunk bed ruined my back. We tried a budget all-inclusive in Tenerife, but the hordes of nuclear families were overwhelming, and pool-side conversations with other women fizzled out because I didn’t come with a handy husband for their own husbands to talk to. A trip to Mallorca with a friend and her children was brilliant, but the cost was eye-watering.
