Everyone Needs a Holiday

 Apparently, everyone needs a holiday and you’ve just had yours. I didn’t subject you to any of my writing for a few days, while I walked, ate, read and took photos in a place I don’t live. It was nice to have a change of scene and has the added bonus that it’s given you a break.

I’m not sure where this idea that a holiday is a basic human right has come from. The Daily Mail had scoop pictures of the Prime Minister’s holiday in Scotland. People had been complaining that for him to take another holiday, when the country is in crisis was just a little bit negligent. As MP colleague leaped to his defence claiming that everyone needs/deserves a holiday and that being Prime Minister is very stressful, the general public, whose only week away this year to a holiday camp type hotel in Spain, was cancelled, were less convinced. Then in a master stroke of PR he was pictured in a tent with a baby strapped to his chest. 

“Oh look, he’s one of us!” people cried.

Except that his last ‘proper holiday’ was in January to Mustique, he had several weekend ‘do not disturb’ breaks, a spell in hospital (not his fault but followed by travel to his country residence at a time we were not allowed to travel), some paternity leave and has now popped to Greece for his Dad’s birthday. 

Although I’ve written this, I have to tell you that I don’t care. I don’t care how many times people go away or what they do when they go. I’m happy to see their holiday snaps. If MPs want to take a break then that is up to them. If they want to pitch a tent on a Scottish hillside or travel the Greek Islands on a Russian Oligarch’s yacht then let them. However, can we stop pretending that it is a human right or necessity. 

My holiday was a two night stay in a hotel in Richmond, with a picnic brunch. Luckily the weather was on our side. Despite it only being 50 miles from where I live I have never been there. I can thoroughly recommend a visit. The Park is mahoosive. Mahoosive is not a word I would normally use but even for a Royal Park this one is big. It’s on the river at the point where the Thames stops being the smelly city thoroughfare and starts being the plaything of the rich and famous. 

The highlight of my break happened in Richmond Park. I had been up early to photograph the deer and walk, while the Long Suffering Husband nursed a birthday hangover and I came across this wonderful little gate.

It wasn’t until later in the day that I found out more about it. I made the LSH climb to the top of a hill, to King Henry’s mound. This is supposed to have been where Henry the Eighth stood to watch a firework rocket from the Tower of London that told him Anne Boleyn had been beheaded.  We did feel sorry for the poor servants or horse that would have carried him to the top. 

The top of this hill has a protected view of St Paul’s and a view through a telescope gives you the most beautiful magical sight. It’s not a vista that could be captured on my camera but through the telescope you see the gate and floating above it is the blue sky with the famous London skyline and the white dome of St Paul’s beautifully framed by trees. 

After we had seen this we went back to the gate to see if we could get a photo of the top half of the view. When we got there a man had leaned his bike up against the gate. He was looking round furtively. We started to walk on and then stopped, thinking we would wait for him to leave. As we turned back around he had chosen that moment to unzip his fly and have the longest wee known to man. We didn’t have the heart to point out that there was a telescope pointing straight at him.

We did have a nice break but it is always good to be home.