Us Brits are renowned for racking up some pretty impressive rap sheets when we get a bit of foreign sun on our backs. Traditionally it’s thought we literally dump our bags in our hotel room, strip down to our tankinis, don some sunnies, and head straight for the nearest bar. Fast forward ten hours and we’re on our backs on the street, bloodied, sunburnt and covered in our own vomit - before we’ve slept under newly pressed sheets for the first time.
But just how true is this?
The guys at Auto Europe have undertaken a survey to better understand British traveller’s holiday habits, and it seems we’re not the lager louts many think we are. They’ve grilled some 2,000 of us about our holiday escapades, culminating in this revealing infographic which does a pretty neat job of challenging some of the more sensational preconceptions about Brits Abroad.
£1,850ish for a holiday seems more or less fair to me. Craig and I tend to spend significantly over this sum now we’re parents, and our alcohol budget is constantly nibbled away at as the children profess undying love for bits of over-inflated tat. You might therefore think that 56 drinks over the course of a week is wildly optimistic, yet sadly we usually manage to double this after dealing with the stress of several tantrums, and hours spent ensuring our children don’t get swept out to sea.
Intimacy-wise, I bet those 8% who lose track of the time spent without their kit on aren’t parents. Craig and I are usually too knackered (or indeed drunk) to manage much more than a quick fight before bedtime. I can’t say we’ve ever made it to a sunbed by 10am either - trying to find a Greek alternative Coco Pops is no easy feat, and it takes at least 30 minutes to apply sun cream to any one child.
Social media would be a fine thing too. We usually manage to check ourselves in on Facebook at Terminal 5, but don’t have the time to sit editing tomato sauce from the mouths of our babes to make pics Instagram-worthy. Craig will manage to keep his inbox in check, but that’s only because he averages about 6 emails a day (mostly asking if he’d like a few extra inches, or whether he’d like a spa day for 70% off - NOOOO Groupon. Get lost.) whereas I’ll receive some 300 in an hour.
I totally get the whole diet-thing though. I can’t pretend I’m swerving burgers for salads on the Costa del Sol. I’m usually way too drunk to translate anything that isn’t served with frites on holiday.
Yet life wasn’t always like this.
Although life before children now seems like a bunch of sepia Polaroids, it did actually exist. In fact, red-eyed photographs of you aged 16 on the beach, quickly become your most liked on Facebook as you were some 4 stone lighter.
Most of us did in fact lose our purses on a girly holiday and have to ring our parents to bail us out. Most of us have managed some sort of a one-night stand on holiday too (even if you can’t now remember his/their name/s) … I find it helps to tell yourself they were bronzed, God-like and way out of your league to help overcome any wine-shame.
Somehow though, the best of these pre-child experiences, don’t quite seem to measure up to the worst of those spent with Craig and the kids. When someone has seen you cut in half to liberate a screaming mass of bloody baby, you somehow don’t feel anxious about how your cellulite-ridden thighs look in your swimming suit anymore. If I’m overlooking his receding hairline, he’ll just have to get past the fact my toenails aren’t painted. There’s a sort of quiet easy confidence that comes post-baby that means you never lose your shit if you forget to pack your hair straighteners either - as long as your two-year-old has that cute dress you impulse-bought from H&M.
Suddenly, it’s the sunset moments spent at a rickety plastic table trying to coax your toddler into eating what has been described as (and must therefore be taken as read to be) chicken breast nuggets, that stand-out to you. You forget you had a killer stress-headache and instead remember how the sun bleached your child’s hair that little bit lighter, that their face was that little bit browner, and you were that little bit more in love with them - now that’s what this Brit does abroad.
