Why I Want Another Holiday Romance

Why I Want Another Holiday Romance

It first happened when I was eight years old. An all-inclusive holiday in Mexico, the best two weeks of my life, thus far. My grandparents were there, I had my first taste of something called grenadine, then many more tastes and there followed my first ever hangover. Wild! But the other more important first was my first ever Holiday Romance. 

Perhaps ‘romance’ is a little strong, but when you’re eight the world and everything in it is a lot bigger than you realise. 

He was a dark haired boy from Spain who spoke English with an American accent, called me ‘Babe’ and wore smart crisp white button down shirts. He was quite grown up for a nine year old and promptly asked me out on a date. A dinner date no less: The all you could eat hotel buffet with his family (of course). It was very romantic; I sat between him and his mother. Then at the end of the meal we were allowed to have dessert on a separate table. Unfortunately his flight home came a little before the end of my holiday and a few days later I waved off his coach as it left for the airport, with a heavy heart, and the beginnings of sunstroke or possibly another pre-teen hangover...