OH WHATEVER happened to romance, moonlit walks along the beach, watching the sunset over a dry martini, dancing the night away to the sounds of salsa?
It seems, according to a recent British Foreign Office Survey, that bonking, boozing and brawling have replaced romance and relaxing as the main reason the young go abroad for their holidays. They interviewed 1000 British young people aged 18-30 to find out what they wanted from a holiday. Top was getting drunk, followed by casual sex and, alarmingly, one in 20 said they enjoyed a good fight. No wonder then that the travel service, Expedia, in an international survey has just identified British tourists as the most troublesome.
Not only this, but even the more mature middle-aged traveller throws caution to the wind and behaves away in a manner he would never dream of at home. Lloyds TSB Insurance have also just published some research which shows that as a nation the Brits disregard norms of behaviour on their holidays – they forget to wear crash helmets, don’t wear seatbelts, drink and drive, we disregard local laws and customs.
Now you could suggest that this is simply arrogance, but I think it is something different. I think it is because the UK has become such a politically correct rule-ridden society that when we are on our holidays we associate it with a sense of freedom: a momentary escape to a world where we are not sanctioned for our behaviour.
Getting away from it all, includes getting away from being told where you can or cannot smoke, how much you can drink, what you can touch or cannot touch, where and when you can have a bonfire or camp or sit late into the night talking.
Coupled to this is the fact that Britons work the longest hours in Europe and that last year 50 per cent of the population were said to be suffering from stress related illness; so, it’s not surprising that the two weeks in the sun a year are like a champagne cork popping out a bottle or the cap flying off a Bacardi breezer. Pure release.
Two years ago I missed the boat to a remote Greek island (long story, lost passport, won’t bore you) but I ended up, for a night, in a Club 18-30 hotel in Kos. Now this was a revelation to me on a number of counts. First, I didn’t realise that vodka and Red Bull could come in two litre jugs. Second, that “pool side games” was not an invitation to play water polo and deck quoits and, third, that the knobbly knees competition had been replaced by something far more intimate.
It was without a doubt totally and utterly outrageous. In the next room to me were four nice girls from Bolton. They all worked in the same office and had matching T-shirts with characters’ names from Sesame Street. Emma’s was Big Bird, enough said! She told me that without the drink they would never lose their inhibitions; and if they didn’t lose their inhibitions they wouldn’t pull and if they didn’t pull what was the point of being on holiday. Ah QED.
So although I have sentimental memories of candyfloss and donkey rides, building sandcastles and making paper hats out of old newspapers, maybe down the road at Butlins it was all still happening: the drink, the Miss Personality competitions, the flirtations. Perhaps being beside the seaside has always been a bit naughty. Kiss me quick hats, saucy postcards, fun in the sun. Maybe we should just accept that working hard and holidaying hard are part of our way of life, and the young are simply carrying on the tradition. Carry on holidaying. Oh and if you are wondering, Emma did win the wet T-shirt competition.
