There have always been three key dates in the annual leave calendar: Christmas, the spring bank holidays and summer. The first two instalments are all about maximisation; weaselling 16 days off for the price of eight in order to save up for more weeks of suntanning and socialising in June, July and August. It feels like winning – but really, it’s a balancing act, which I learned the hard way. Such was my dedication to eking out the most from the standard 28 days, I even took a meeting from the luggage collection conveyor belt at Gatwick. I wasn’t relaxed or well rested – I was manic.
After a serious bout of burnout, I decided to try something different: mimicking the school holidays. Not in terms of dates (I don’t have limitless cash, a love of queues, children, or a weird desire to hang out with other people’s) but, in terms of structure. Roughly every six to eight weeks or 43 days, as was found by researchers to be most effective to stave off exhaustion, I’d book some days off; Cyprus with my mum in October, Christmas at home in December, a wedding in the US in February, some time spent with my dad in late April, a long weekend in June, my birthday in August, and a trip to Italy in September.
