So darling girl, you and I went to Spain. We went just the two of us because your daddy is a kind and impetuous man and our happiness is his happiness. I'd waged a mini-campaign a few weeks previously in favour of all of us going on holiday, but it wasn't really a flyer....in the end, Himself came up with the idea of just you and I going and whilst at first I demurred, I soon started to think well, why not? I reckoned it would be a lovely opportunity to get your ever-swathed skin into the light and air and for you to have my undivided attention - not the usual staccato pattern of our days at home, spinning about, fitting you around things and things around you.
I had previously put the question to mumsnet for suggestions on a laid-back and baby-friendly holiday destination. I definitely didn't want to stay in a hotel - I mean, what do you do in a hotel room from 7pm onwards with a baby, particularly if you are on your own? I am independent, but even I could see that some kind of Hideous Kinky boho Moroccan adventure would be neither wise nor fun, it not being the 70's anymore and all. But it was an easy decision in the end as the unanimous reply came back, Caserio Del Mirador. And so it was booked. Himself was to stay at home and, having had the pleasure of paying for it, would then also have to come home every night (instead of the usual staying in a hotel some week nights) to wrangle chickens, feed animals and keep the home fires burning after a 13 hour day and two hour commute. Saintly doesn't begin to cover it.The mumsnet jury is an exacting, even rigid one. But they were not alone in their praise - the most idle of google searches reveals a chorus of approval for this Valencian, but English-run establishment, but more of that later.
So on the 18th of May, having packed one big suitcase for both of us, which was filled with cute sun-friendly outfits (baby) and tons of supplements and a couple of ill-conceived maxi dresses (me), Himself drove us to Gatwick at silly o clock in the morning to the North Terminal and in we checked! Exciting... and rather impressively my luggage came in at 4 kg under the BA allowance - which made it all the more fortunate that I was flying with BA. Not only that, but we had free Club class tickets, due to the injudicious use of credit cards and the attendant collection of Avios points. Result!
But before the 1980's-sounding delights of the Executive Lounge, I was amazed to have my back up bottle of baby formula scanned at security by what I can only assume was a mass spectrometer to determine its lack of explosive / nerve agent content. Actually, I have googled it and that is exactly what it is http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puffer_machine - so the future has arrived apparently. The UK Border Agency having established I am not (yet) a dangerous criminal, waved us on through and so to the lounge, in all its mirrored, be-croissanted glory.
From here it was easy. We pootled about, we boarded. The cabin was pressurised and you screamed with formidable commitment. But only for about 15 minutes and then you slept for the whole flight, right until we landed. I even managed to eat some breakfast with my left hand while you dozed in my rapidly numbing equal and opposite limb. I nobly eschewed free alcohol which, given it was 7 am, was not really too much of a hardship. At Alicante a slightly dishevelled and instantly untrustworthy English man met me with a little sign displaying my surname and off we went to the hire car. It turned out to be a close relation to a converted baked bean tin with wheels. No matter, a quick feed in the back, a word with my brain about the location of the gear stick in my right hand instead of my left and the holiday began. Caserio del Mirador beckoned to us from it's hilltop eyrie.
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