I am 40, single and going on my first family holiday in decades
I’m rescued from my precarious living situation by my cool auntie inviting me to join her, my uncle and cousins (boys, 11 and 13) on holiday at Center Parcs for a week. Since I have nowhere to live and nothing to do (except fret about houses), I enthusiastically agree. Only later it dawns on me I am 40, single and going on my first family holiday in decades.
The first thing I learn about family holidays is how long packing takes. I usually chuck my stuff into a bag and buy what I’ve forgotten at the other end. Now I watch my aunt and uncle madly rushing around packing snacks, drinks, hay-fever medication, swimming towels, bikes, trainers, calling upstairs: ‘Don’t forget your swimming shorts’, ‘Did you pack your toothbrush?’ ‘Do you definitely have your trunks?’ It takes four hours to pack for four days.
There are other adjustments. My holidays usually involve sleeping until 12, going for long, drunken lunches then sunbathing until dinner. A glance at our Center Parcs itinerary reveals this will be rather different.
Center Parcs, a middle-class Butlins-style recreation of rural Sweden, is a wholesome utopia of wood cabins set in a forest teeming with activities. We’re signed up for a week of cycling, kayaking, footballing, and – the big event – the Subtropical Swimming Paradise.
‘Do you want a quick drink before we brave the water park?’ asks my aunt, as a shout comes from the boys’ bedroom: ‘I’ve forgotten my swimming shorts!’
Also with us is Fran, my aunt’s gay best friend, sunshine personified and an excellent wingman who passes me intel about Dilfs as we enter the Subtropical Swimming Paradise. ‘Did you spot the blond dad in pink shorts?’ (Yes, I had.)
It’s fun spending time with my cousins. It’s years since I hung out with anyone genuinely young, and I’m fascinated to discover a new lexicon, like what a ‘Karen’ is. I’m also amused to learn they’ve reclaimed the word ‘triggered’ from sensitive millennials, so now it’s used to mock anyone with feelings – like, if I say we’re out of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes a cry might come back: ‘Triggered!’
I am thrilled when the cousins think I am 35 and even more delighted when I go on the Wild Water Rapids with the youngest one and he declares I am ‘a fun adult’!
Keen to keep up this illusion I go on ride after ride with them, even braving the Tropical Cyclone – which turns out to be a mistake when I come off shaking just as I spot a sign saying ‘no alcohol or drugs’.
The following day my auntie, having tackled the rapids with enthusiasm, has injured herself, so Fran and I spend the day with the boys kayaking, where they’re most interested in sinking us; cycling, where they try to get us lost; and swimming, where we go on more water rides.
That night, I collapse on the sofa exhausted with a bottle of wine and a new-found respect for parents. I contemplate opening Tinder but am too exhausted to swipe. Instead, I consume a shocking amount of Tunnock’s Caramels and pass out. Is this why my friends with children complain they never get any action?
The next morning, hungover, I look out the curtains of our cabin to see entire families jogging past. I go back to sleep – pleased to be single, 40 and childless. Amazed by the idea that, in a parallel universe, this could have been my life.
You can read Katie Glass's column, What Katie did next, every Saturday from 6am on telegraph.co.uk
Follow our Stella Facebook page for the latest from Stella Magazine, and join the Telegraph Women Facebook group, a place to discuss our stories
