I’m going on holiday.
You might wonder where a young 20-something might be spending her summer break.
Ibiza? Not quite.
Ayia Napa? Nah.
Magaluf? Now you’re taking the mick.
No, I’m off to Mallorca with my mother, father and 14-year-old sister.
At 24 it might seem a little sad that I prefer the company of my folks to the Club 18 to 30 scene.
Call me old before my time but bar crawls until dawn, luminous-coloured cocktails, and fending off the advances of boys so heavily intoxicated they’d struggle telling you from a lamppost all seems like hard work to me.
On my first - and only - girls’ holiday I opted out of a prepaid booze cruise to spend a day pottering around the markets.
What are cheap cocktails to homemade soap and locally-produced olive oil?
Some might laugh but, before you call me sad, think of this - I’m taking £80 in spending money.
I get to relive my youth in a water park under the pretence I’m doing the parents a favour by ‘taking’ the grumpy teenage sis.
My dad fetches English newspapers for us every morning.
And, when I land, washing and ironing the holiday wardrobe needn’t be a worry - mum has it covered.
Not so sad now, am I?