Are we nearly there yet?

Ben Hatch

resorts to bribery to settle differences of opinion on holiday

When abroad, I devour the guidebook. I attempt the language, read famous books and watch classic films set where we are going.

I eat the food, insist we see the sights, learn the history and become expert in local customs. I do this right up until the moment I’m home, when I disregard the country, forget everything about it and return to watching crime boxsets with a bag of Wotsits on the sofa like none of this ever happened.

My kids were, until recently, pretty cool with this. True, on one French sightseeing holiday I was forced to convince them there was a difference between a French and English minute to justify the fact that a château “just around the corner” had taken so long to reach.

“Daddy. You said 10 minutes.” “French minutes, guys.” But now they’re older and wiser, it’s harder to convince them of the merits of a red onion museum 50 miles away. Siding with the children last year, my wife scoured various villa websites after I’d fallen asleep watching and outmanoeuvred me into spending a week in Frigiliana, Andalusia, sat around the pool of an idyllic Spanish high-end holiday home.

They loved it, of course, but being ginger, I burn faster than thin-based pizza. It was 38C most days. Despite the Alhambra Palace being practically on our doorstep – a mere two-hour drive away – I had to lounge poolside, the kids periodically squirting me with water pistols to prevent my drying out, like a seal at a marine aquarium.

This year, when my wife came off the phone from a travel agent, announcing she’d booked a week in another villa with a pool – this time near Arezzo in Tuscany – I was ready for her.

We did not have a single pool day. Instead, I returned to my usual approach to travel, enabled by the simple trick of baiting the kids off-site with gelati.

“Of course we’re not going to Pienza to see the papal palace of Pius II. No, kids, we’re going for an ice cream. But, hey, if we happen to pass the palazzo, we might as well pop in to escape the heat, right?”

Another winning tactic: banning iPad use unless we’re driving. It’s incredible what my son will do for an hour of Fifa 16. One morning, he actually bolted for the car, which was bound for a display case containing the gammy tooth of Renaissance poet Petrarch.

I’ve also shamefully abused the advice of the National Lightning Safety Institute’s website (lightningsafety.com) on swimming pool use in thunderstorms.

“Cloud looks ominous, guys. It’s up to your mother: either you flirt with the voltage or we could go to Cortona, which is famous for its stracciatella milkshakes.”