Sick of holidays?

Before I start, I need to make it clear that my children are rarely sick. Neither am I and nor is my husband. Honestly. I can understand why anyone reading my blog or who has heard my holiday tales might assume otherwise. It would make sense to wonder why we even bother going on holiday when we're sick so often. It would be logical to conclude that we're the sickliest family in existence. But we're not. We're really not. It just seems that way because whenever we are sick we just happen to be on holiday. Yeah, yeah, I know, the chances of that happening are directly proportional to the amount of time we actually spend on holiday. But the statistics don't add up - honestly. Without a doubt, there have been more vomiting incidences on holiday than at home - and, contrary to popular belief, we don't actually spend half our lives on holiday (or even a quarter). I promise. So why does it always happen to us?!

There was the time at the airport hotel just before a ten-hour flight to Jamaica, when Dylan decided to start throwing up (see Those without a strong stomach, look away now). And there was the time both kids got rotavirus shortly before our holiday to Lanzarote, and Finn was still throwing up as we left for the airport. There was the time when Finn had tummy troubles of a different kind at the airport, just after we'd checked in our luggage (definitely one for another blog). And there have been numerous times when Finn has thrown up in the car due to travel sickness (but only when it's least convenient and we haven't had time to get a sick bag ready). There was the time when Lee was sick in Tenerife, just before our taxi arrived to take us back to the airport. And the time we both got E.coli in Corfu - Lee was sick on a coach trip and I was sick on the coach back to the airport. Then I was sick in Prague, due to a cough, and on a mini-cruise from Cyprus to Egypt, presumably due to sea sickness. Not to mention more times than I can count in Majorca and Florida, but that was morning sickness, so I'll let those slide. There are probably several other examples that I can't remember offhand, but you get the point.

So you might wonder why we bother going away at all. After our recent break, I'm beginning to wonder too. It was only one night. One night. A night I was looking forward to - it was my birthday present, we hadn't been away since October, and our holidays will be shorter and less frequent from now on, so every night counts. We'd spent the day in London. To be honest, it hadn't been the most relaxing of days - the boys had been alternately hyper and whingy. We'd decided to go to TGI Friday's for dinner and had a 50-minute wait for a table. We'd all had big dinners and big puddings and we'd got back to the hotel feeling rather full. We'd read the boys stories, put them to bed in the double sofa bed and retreated to the bathroom. We had briefly debated the logistics of having a drink in the hotel bar, but it was already quite late and we were both tired. We'd decided in the end on our usual game of cards in the bathroom - just long enough to give us a bit of time to ourselves and to give the boys time to get to sleep before we turned in ourselves. We'd pulled the chair and a little table into the bathroom and there we sat, me on the toilet (lid down, of course) and Lee on the chair, playing cribbage while we listened to the boys whispering, giggling and generally not going to sleep. Eventually, all went quiet. We finished our game and decided it was probably safe to creep in and go to bed ourselves. And then, all of a sudden, the door opened. There stood Finn, looking not unlike something from a horror film. At first, I thought he was sleep-walking, as he didn't respond when we asked him what what he was doing. I did, at least, have the sense to get off the toilet and start to move away, assuming that was what he'd come for. Then he spoke. 'I think I'm going to be...' He didn't finish his sentence, preferring a dramatic interpretation instead. I wasn't quick enough. Stupidly, I assumed that was it. I moved the table but didn't lift the toilet lid. He was sick again. Everywhere.

At this point, I should mention that Dylan has become quite phobic about vomit - the very thought of anyone being sick is enough to send him into a panic. All the noise had woken him, of course, and he sat there in bed crying and whimpering. 'Has Finn been sick? Where is it? Is there lots of it? Is he going to be sick again?' Meanwhile, we're all standing in the bathroom, Finn, the floor, the chair and the table all covered in vomit, Lee and I standing there dumbstruck and unable to do anything. Eventually, we come to our senses and start to move - although this is easier said that done, due to the huge puddle of sick on the floor that we need to manoeuvre around. 'Do you think they'll have any cleaning staff here?' I ask. 'I doubt it,' says Lee. 'It's nearly midnight.' I know that we'll at least need a mop or some rags and realise I'm going to have to go to reception. I look at the chair and table in the middle of the bathroom and I know it looks weird. So I move them out of the bathroom and start cleaning them with wet toilet roll while Lee attempts to move Finn towards the shower and Dylan continues to cry. I throw my jumper dress back on and clump down to reception in my boots, looking ridiculous and having forgotten that the bar is still open and there are people to see me. The man at reception looks quite frankly terrified when I tell him my son has been sick everywhere, and eventually comes back with some towels, a couple of rags and an apologetic look. I arrive back in the room to Lee attempting to hose Finn down in the shower, Finn screaming because the shower is too hot, and Dylan still crying and saying that he doesn't want to sleep in the same bed as Finn. We finally clean Finn up, calm Dylan down and settle them both to sleep in separate beds, before setting to work cleaning up a bathroom full of vomit with a few towels. Luckily, due to the limitations of carrying all our overnight stuff around London with us, we hadn't brought pyjamas, so we didn't have to worry about hosing them down and carrying them with us the next day. Not so luckily, the bra and socks I'd thrown on the bathroom floor hadn't got off quite so lightly, and I only had spare socks. Nice...

Once we were cleaned up, we had a decision to make - which bed? The comfy bed next to Finn, who might throw up all over you at any time? Or the not-so-comfy sofa bed with Dylan, who wasn't so likely to throw up over you (although there were no guarantees)? I chose Dylan. Probably the worst decision of the weekend (other than the decision to take the children in the first place). Lying in bed next to Dylan, my husband over the other side of the room, I remembered the looks on people's faces when I mentioned we were having a short break in London. 'Oooh, just you and Lee?' 'No, the kids as well.' 'Oh... that'll be... um... nice?' A night in a hotel bed with my six-year-old son, the scent of vomit wafting in the air, was not exactly what I had planned. But it got worse. Dylan snores. Not gentle snores like you might expect from a little boy, but the sort of loud, rattling snores you'd expect from an overweight buffalo. This was bad enough. It's not easy to sleep on a hard hotel sofa bed with one pillow, in a strange room when you're overtired, with the worry that you might all have stomach bugs, and your son snoring loudly next to your head. Unfortunately, Dylan is also fidgety. I've noticed this when I check on him at night, but I'd always assumed it was just because I disturbed him when I opened the door. Finn has also complained about it before, but I'd assumed it was just Finn being moany. It wasn't. Dylan is the most fidgety child I have ever encountered. He didn't go more than two minutes without rolling over, arms and legs flailing. I got punched in the face, kicked in the back and kneed in the stomach. Repeatedly. The upshot of this was that I didn't sleep. At all. I didn't get one wink of sleep, let alone forty. As I lay there at six in the morning, room dark, squashed into a quarter of the bed with Dylan's arm across my face, having named all fifty American states, boys' and girls' names beginning with each letter of the alphabet and started on countries, I felt thoroughly miserable. This break had been a stupid idea.

The next day was hard work. The kids were awake at 7am, wanting the curtains open and not giving a monkeys about my lack of sleep. I felt a little more human after a shower and a nice breakfast and, determined not to let the previous night spoil the break completely, we doggedly visited the Museum of London and the Tate Britain, trying to let the kids' whinges go over our heads. We stopped at Bluewater on the way home for dinner at Cafe Rouge, conscious of not letting Finn eat too much this time. We made the most of our time, because that's what we do. Despite all our many holiday disasters (lots involving sick, apparently), we've never had a bad holiday. It's just that some are better than others. And this little break wasn't one of the better ones.

So what did I learn? Firstly, much as I love my children and I love family holidays, some breaks just weren't designed with them in mind. In particular, one-night breaks to London where every second counts. I can't help thinking what a nice weekend it would have been if I could have browsed the museums without 'Have we finished yet?', 'When are we leaving?' and 'Is it lunchtime?' in my ear every second, and if I could have slept eight hours in a comfy bed with my husband, rather than no hours on a sofa bed with Mr Fidget. Secondly, given our history, I really should be more prepared. I always have a couple of sick bags in my handbag already. But maybe I should start carrying around plastic bags, wet wipes, a change of clothes for all the family and a bucket. And maybe a swaddle or a straitjacket for Dylan, just in case, God forbid, I ever have to sleep in the same bed as him again. Shudder.

Holiday limitations

So here we are: the first school holidays since hubby took his new job (bar Christmas, but that doesn't count as we never go away for Christmas - see Christmas (no) holidays). I've already mentally adjusted myself to the lack of holiday time since he started the job - as I said in my last blog (what's really important), the regular quality time together more than makes up for it. However, what I'm still struggling to adjust to is the accompanying lack of holiday money. Sadly, it seems we are yet to find that elusive job that pays you a fortune and lets you have a life. Or even a job that pays a reasonable living wage to live that elusive life with. It seems that having evenings and weekends free goes hand in hand with not really having any money to spend on them.

It wouldn't be a problem if it was summer. Days out in summer are generally free - the park, the beach, a country walk. Eating out is easy - let's go for a picnic. Even holidays can be cheap, as we've proved countless times with our camping extravaganzas. Winter is different. The beach doesn't really have that same appeal - but soft-play, swimming, bowling and the cinema all cost money. A country walk is doable if the weather isn't too awful, but it's not the same without a nice pub lunch to warm up. Picnics don't really work unless you like spending ten minutes trying to open a packet of crisps with numb fingers. And the only holidays that really appeal involve spending thousands to jump on a plane and head somewhere warm.

So here I am faced with half-term on my own, with two children, no husband and not a lot of spare cash. Not a new situation for most people, I'm sure, but a shock to the system for me. A quick look at those handy Facebook memories shows me I was in Newcastle visiting my sister this time last year, and the year before that, I was in Jamaica. Best not to dwell on that. My first answer is to invite some of the children's friends round - the children get free, weather-independent entertainment and I get time to get some work done (another advantage/disadvantage of not being on holiday) - everybody's happy. But, the thing is, it's my birthday this week. I haven't been on holiday since October. That's a long time for me. I'm feeling deprived.

So I say to my husband: 'Instead of a present for my birthday, what I'd really like is a holiday!'

Of course, we both know that's not going to happen. But I am happy to settle for a night away. He books a precious day off work and we debate where to go. For just one night, there's no point in going more than an hour or two away. Where can we go that's nearby and will give us cheap/free daytime entertainment? The answer is obvious: London. It's an hour's drive away. It has tons of free museums. Job done. Of course, staying in London isn't so cheap. However, you'd be surprised - I was! - at how cheap you actually can get it. With a bit of research, I managed to find a Holiday Inn (London West) for £54 for the night for four of us, with an extra £9 for breakfast (again, for all four of us!). It's not central, but it's only a couple of minutes' walk to a tube station and then just fifteen minutes into the centre.

I am disproportionately excited. It's just a cheap night in London. But the last few years have made me reassess what's important and appreciate what I've got. Everything's relative, and a night away with my family is still exciting. Okay, it's not Jamaica or Australia or even five weeks in a tent in France, but it's still time together. And, regardless of anything else, I do like to get away, so it's still a mini-holiday somewhere else. Despite the limiting weather, despite the limited time and despite the limited budget, I know we'll have a great time. I have no intention whatsoever of giving up on holidays - I'll just become the budget break blogger!

Cairns Colonial Club Resort, Queensland, Australia

So I've left this one a little late. 'Late' is being kind, as it's now around 18 months since we actually visited the Colonial Club. It's so late that the only way to leave a Trip Advisor Review is to lie and say we visited in August 2015 (as opposed to, ahem, 2014). Of course, lying aside, it's been so long that I can't really remember it very well, so it wouldn't be a very accurate review - or, perhaps, a fair one, as who knows what might have changed in the last year and a half. Anyway, for anyone considering this hotel or looking for accommodation in Cairns, I'll try to help.

We first visited this hotel over ten years ago, on the recommendation of my mother-in-law. The recommendation came mainly because of the beautiful tropical grounds, and I can see why. The hotel has several swimming pools, landscaped to look like natural waterholes, and the grounds are filled with tropical vegetation and an abundance of wildlife (listening to kookaburras and spotting the odd bandicoot may be yawnsome for the natives, but it's pretty exciting for a Brit who's used to pigeons and worms). Unfortunately, when we visited (both times), it was winter. Back in 2004, this wasn't a problem. Winter in Queensland is like summer in Britain, with temperatures usually in the late twenties. That said, the pools were pretty shady and actually very cold, so our admiration stayed aesthetic. In 2014, however, it was a different story - the temperature was around nineteen degrees and it was rainy. The pools didn't even look inviting, let alone feel it. It was a big disappointment, as the grounds were one of the reasons we chose to come back to this hotel - visions of lying by the pool with a book, watching the children frolicking in the water, quickly evaporated. The pictures are of the grounds back in 2004 - the picture below those, taken on a boat trip from Cairns, demonstrates why I didn't bother taking any picture of the grounds in 2014...

Pool at Colonial Club Resort

The restaurant can be seen to the right

The restaurant is on the left and a pool on the right

Near Cairns, August 2014 - lovely weather!

We didn't actually spend a whole lot of time at the Colonial Club on our most recent visit - we were only there two nights. I can remember that the staff at reception were very friendly and helpful, the food in the restaurant was delicious the night we ate there, and it's a bit of a maze trying to find your room.

As for the rooms, they've certainly improved a bit since we were there in 2004. Whilst we loved the hotel itself and the grounds on our first visit, the room was more Hi-de-Hi than hotel. It was clean and comfortable, but definitely more functional than luxurious.

Room at Cairns Colonial Club in 2004

When we booked for 2014, the only option that allowed us to have our children in the room was a studio apartment. It wasn't huge but it did have a separate bedroom for the adults, allowing the children to sleep on sofa beds in the lounge (it would be quite spacious if there were only two of you). There were also basic cooking facilities, which we didn't make use of (other than the fridge), and a TV in both rooms - bonus. As I can't remember much more about it, I'll let my video (below) do the talking. Overall, I would recommend the Colonial Club Resort for a stay in Cairns. The hotel is a little outside the centre but it is a short drive or cheap taxi ride away. The setting is lovely if you have the time and weather to enjoy it, and it was actually very reasonably priced (which was a welcome change from 2004!).

Check out my YouTube channel (Holiday Obsessive) for more hotel tours, in Australia and elsewhere.