Oh, the agony!

Res­i­dent agony un­cle Kit Hes­keth-har­vey solves your dilem­mas

Country Life Every Week - - Town & Country Notebook -

One day I’ll fly away

QI’ve been dat­ing a lovely woman for some six months and de­cided to whisk her away for a ro­man­tic week­end. How­ever, when I pitched the idea, it emerged she has a fear of fly­ing as well as of wa­ter and there­fore boats. I’m very keen on her, but does this mean I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life on this is­land?

J. R., Hamp­shire

ADoomed? I envy you, sir. Not be­cause, nowa­days, the at­ten­dant has­sle of fly­ing any­where is, how­ever one achieves it, so ut­terly ghastly that no trip in­volv­ing an air­port is worth it, nor be­cause the good Lord didn’t give us gills. Nor yet be­cause a week­end—say, at best, 56 hours—can­not pos­si­bly be ro­man­tic if more than 10 of those hours are spent in travel.

No, I envy you be­cause sev­eral life­times of ro­man­tic week­ends wouldn’t be enough to ex­haust the in­fi­nite joys that this lit­tle is­land can pro­vide. Nor­way? Try in­stead Oban. Deauville? Torquay. Car­cas­sonne? Al­nwick. Tallinn? Chil­ham. Berlin? Glas­gow. The Ar­dennes? Kielder. Portofino? Port­meirion.

Abroad, as Nancy Mit­ford’s Un­cle Matthew rightly de­clared, is bloody. If you re­ally wish to im­peril so beau­ti­ful a nascent re­la­tion­ship, then try the Ori­ent

Ex­press and val­ium in her Cin­zano, but I hon­estly don’t ad­vise it.

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