COLIN HOGG

COLIN’S FAMILY ARE GOING THE WHOLE HOGG FOR AN UPCOMING BIRTHDAY

Another birthday has just come and gone. There’s nothing you can do about the arrival of birthdays, believe me I’ve tried! Some years back, on the brink of turning 60, I fled to Samoa, but mixed up the time zones and accidentally had that significant birthday twice, which was not the plan at all.

This latest birthday was one of those worrying ones that ends in nine. I don’t like them at all, mainly because of what comes exactly a year later – an age ending in zero and starting with a new number altogether. Increasingly, it’s a number I don’t feel old enough to deserve.

My kids, though, seem to like me getting older. It excites them in a way I can’t quite put my finger on and, of course, the older I get, the more excited they get.

Just under a year from now, when another one of those birthdays with a zero rolls around, they want to do something special to mark the occasion. They want the whole family to get together somewhere to celebrate.

“On an island,” several of them suggested. They told me to choose which island, so I said Maui, which is a Hawaiian island I’ve heard very good things about. I’m not sure how we’d pull it off, but we have managed to organise get-togethers on islands before, so it may just happen again.

My suggestion of Hawaii was a geographically sensitive one, and took into consideration where my kids live – New Zealand, two parts of Australia and New York. I looked at a world map and Hawaii seemed almost a sensible suggestion. Though also, possibly, rather expensive.

There will be 10 grandchildren by the time that next birthday arrives, plus my six kids and their partners and, of course, us. We’ll have a bigger entourage than Fleetwood Mac and we’re probably just as loud.

The first island we ever invaded together was Samoa, when daughter number three had her wedding over there. We took over the better part of the small resort we were staying at for the occasion and convinced ourselves for a few days that we were our own village, which we were, though fully catered.

Then, just last Christmas, we took ourselves to Rotoroa Island, in Auckland’s Hauraki Gulf, where we spread ourselves across several of the handful of houses you can rent on that jewel of a place.

We had to take all of our supplies with us on the ferry, figure out meal rosters and be careful we didn’t run out of beer, but it all worked and was brilliant. The only downside was that the New York branch didn’t make it, so it wasn’t a total family invasion.

This next time, the whole crowd should turn up, though I wish we had a better reason than me getting older. I’m not feeling that enthusiastic about another big click of the clock. This time, I might be the one who doesn’t turn up. Or I’ll hide out down on the beach with my surfboard.

Or go to another island altogether. Stewart maybe. I can blame it on a senior moment.