The last time I went away on holiday with my extended family I was about four. We went to Disneyworld in Orlando, an ideal place to take three girls of ages seven and under, and we haven't travelled to a foreign country together since. I'm now twenty-two.
Last year, we started circling the idea again. Since that first Orlando adventure my sister and my youngest cousin have been added to the clan, the three original musketeers have started (and one has graduated) university, my granddad turned seventy-five, my dad turned fifty, Andy Murray won Wimbledon... it's been an eventful eighteen years.
So, why try it again now? A whimsical notion that now that we're older and wiser and can (presumably) articulate ourselves better there'll be a lot less arguing and a lot more fun? The fact that we're all taller and can now ride the biggest of the rollercoasters? Perhaps someone has worked out that five 'children', two sets of parents, a granddad, and Emma's boyfriend add up to a football team of people and there's some kind of family tournament going on that we're not aware of. Whatever the reason, it's happening. From the 18th to the 27th of July the Rutherford-Moores will be gracing Florida with our presence once again and I already know that it's going to be... interesting.
My cousins want to visit every theme park available to them. Aside from the fact that I don't know if I can stomach spending every one of the nine days in a land of make-believe, their favourites are Universal Studios, Disneyworld, Typhoon Lagoon (which sounds brilliant in a Scottish accent), and Busch Gardens. The first three on that list are fine by me - but Busch Gardens is owned by SeaWorld and my stance on giving SeaWorld any money is unshakeable. I won't do it. And, despite the number of times that I've explained this to my uncle, he keeps singling out that one in particular. "No, Uncle B, you guys can go and I'll stay by the pool on that day. And I'll say the same thing next time you ask too."
My sister wants two shopping days. On one of those days, she'd like us to be at the mall at opening time, which is 7am on weekdays. That might be the biggest whimsical notion of the lot. I spend most of my life blissfully unaware that the short hand of the clock passes the number six twice in one day -- I don't want to be confronted with that truth on holiday because my sister wants to find out what Victoria's secret is.
My uncle wants us to participate in the numerous family activities run by the hotel. Karaoke and quiz night I can get behind, but Thursday's promise of Family Feud Night hits a little too close to home. We arrive on a Saturday. Asking us to wait until Thursday is asking rather a lot.
It's going to be fine. It's even going to be fun. I know that, because I know my family and I know that the number of times I roll my eyes will be far outweighed by the number of times I laugh, and that's always a good statistic to end a holiday with.
I also know, though, that there's a very good chance we'll end the holiday with an unspoken agreement to wait another eighteen years for a repeat. I might be able to handle it again when I'm forty.
Last year, we started circling the idea again. Since that first Orlando adventure my sister and my youngest cousin have been added to the clan, the three original musketeers have started (and one has graduated) university, my granddad turned seventy-five, my dad turned fifty, Andy Murray won Wimbledon... it's been an eventful eighteen years.
So, why try it again now? A whimsical notion that now that we're older and wiser and can (presumably) articulate ourselves better there'll be a lot less arguing and a lot more fun? The fact that we're all taller and can now ride the biggest of the rollercoasters? Perhaps someone has worked out that five 'children', two sets of parents, a granddad, and Emma's boyfriend add up to a football team of people and there's some kind of family tournament going on that we're not aware of. Whatever the reason, it's happening. From the 18th to the 27th of July the Rutherford-Moores will be gracing Florida with our presence once again and I already know that it's going to be... interesting.
My cousins want to visit every theme park available to them. Aside from the fact that I don't know if I can stomach spending every one of the nine days in a land of make-believe, their favourites are Universal Studios, Disneyworld, Typhoon Lagoon (which sounds brilliant in a Scottish accent), and Busch Gardens. The first three on that list are fine by me - but Busch Gardens is owned by SeaWorld and my stance on giving SeaWorld any money is unshakeable. I won't do it. And, despite the number of times that I've explained this to my uncle, he keeps singling out that one in particular. "No, Uncle B, you guys can go and I'll stay by the pool on that day. And I'll say the same thing next time you ask too."
My sister wants two shopping days. On one of those days, she'd like us to be at the mall at opening time, which is 7am on weekdays. That might be the biggest whimsical notion of the lot. I spend most of my life blissfully unaware that the short hand of the clock passes the number six twice in one day -- I don't want to be confronted with that truth on holiday because my sister wants to find out what Victoria's secret is.
My uncle wants us to participate in the numerous family activities run by the hotel. Karaoke and quiz night I can get behind, but Thursday's promise of Family Feud Night hits a little too close to home. We arrive on a Saturday. Asking us to wait until Thursday is asking rather a lot.
It's going to be fine. It's even going to be fun. I know that, because I know my family and I know that the number of times I roll my eyes will be far outweighed by the number of times I laugh, and that's always a good statistic to end a holiday with.
I also know, though, that there's a very good chance we'll end the holiday with an unspoken agreement to wait another eighteen years for a repeat. I might be able to handle it again when I'm forty.