Let’s hear it for the lazy holiday!

Forget on-trend adventure breaks and head to a sunlounger, says Mel Hunter

‘I’m not one of those people who can just lie in the sun for two weeks,’ said my friend Jo as we sat drinking coffee while she scrolled smugly through pictures of the holiday she’d just booked. She couldn’t wait to fill her annual break with sailing, snorkelling and kite-surfing – quite possibly all before breakfast… Just listening to her made me want to crawl on to the nearest sunlounger and stay there.

Jo, 46 years young with triceps you could crack nuts on, is one of my many friends who gave up their weekend lie-ins in the pursuit of triathlon glory a long time ago. No wonder the natural extension for her and countless other exercise enthusiasts is to go ‘immersive’ – that is, you immerse yourself in some physical experience in the name of fun. Cattle hand on a ranch, anyone?

Me? I’m more of an ‘ouch, my arm is aching from holding my paperback’ kind of holidaymaker. Give me a sunset stroll on the sand and a bicep curl with a cocktail any day. Or at least that’s the dream. These days, I tailor the fantasy to meet the needs of my two fidgety kids. But even pre-children, I had my standards.

On my 30th birthday, in the spirit of

‘try everything once’, I went surfing and coasteering with a group of friends – also known as saying a quick prayer before jumping off Cornish cliffs into the Atlantic below. Reader, I’m now 43 and haven’t worn a wetsuit since. That tells you all you need to know.

I’ve got friends who talk paddleboarding in Bali, salsa in Spain and abseiling in the Alps. These are sane, hard-working people parting with thousands of pounds in exchange for certain pain and potential injury. Well, you can keep your trekking and canoeing. The only paddle I’m interested in is one where I dip my toes in the clear blue sea. My holiday will be planned so I can get away with doing nothing for as long as possible. That means finding something the kids love doing while I keep watch from the safety of my beach towel. I may build up a little sweat strolling around a local market but, then again, I may not.

I feel no guilt for my holiday lethargy. Life is busier than ever, and for 50 weeks a year I do my fair share of racing around and co-ordinating the interests of my family, including squeezing in some exercise for myself. For the other two weeks, frankly I’m OK with doing nothing. It gives me the chance to remember who my husband is, lie to him that he hasn’t gone any greyer since last summer, and do the annual check to see if we still have anything to talk about (the jury’s still out on that one).

Besides, I’m setting the children a good example. How else will they know that it’s okay not to be on the go 24/7, unless their dear old mum leads by example? Admittedly, the phrase, ‘It’s nearly rosé o’clock’ muttered not long after breakfast may also register, but at least I’m not making them cycle up the Matterhorn like some mothers.

So if, this summer, you find yourself in the arrivals hall weighed down with cheap gin and Toblerones, rather than nursing a sports injury and aching limbs, welcome back.

You’re my kind of people.