HOLIDAY DREAMS

It had dawned on me that we hadn't had a proper foreign holiday – one with relaxation, pool, great food, no cooking, and drinks in glasses accessorised with paper umbrellas – since 2002. I started dreaming (day and night) about being on holiday: I was back at Le Maquis, a small but very special hotel in Porticcio on Corsica, where we once had a fabulously relaxing time and ate way too much. I'd be nose-deep in a Michael Crichton (book, of course), parked on a lounger by the sparkling swimming pool and sipping at a cool drink brought to me by a smartly-uniformed waiter. Dream on . . .

As well as coming to stay with us on Mallorca, several of our recent visitors have been holidaying in more exotic places like Australia, Japan and the States, and regaled us with tempting travellers' tales. But when I mentioned my need for a holiday to one couple, I had a fairly typical response: “You're permanently on holiday - and you live on Mallorca!”

Excuse me?! Permanently on holiday? We live in an old finca and, believe me, it's no holiday. There's always a list of jobs to be done when you have an old house with a lot of land. Just keeping the window shutters in decent repair is one of those jobs like painting the Forth Bridge – you never actually finish it. Why is it that some people imagine that our days are spent sightseeing, enjoying long lunches in glitzy waterside eateries, and lazing around on one of the island's many beautiful beaches? If only . . .

We also spend quite a bit of time looking after friends and family members who come to stay with us on a holiday or short break. It's something we really love doing but, to make sure everyone has a great stay, calls for a fair flurry of activity in the housework/shopping/catering/entertaining departments.

Sadly, our budget and a few other factors mean a "proper" holiday isn't possible, but The Boss recently celebrated An Important Birthday, and it was the perfect excuse to slip away for a couple of nights and pretend to be holidaymakers.

Our trip took us to Cala Rajada in the north-east of the island. It's only a 25 minute drive from our finca (close enough for me to be able to return each day to feed/water/cuddle the two cats; there are no decent catteries near Manacor) but we'd only visited twice before, so it was a bit of a voyage of discovery.

We stayed at The Sea Club, a unique place that's rather like chilling out in the colonial-style seaside home of British friends. It's relaxing, comfortable, totally unstuffy, has a fascinating history (Sean Connery's stayed there) and there are no smart uniforms to make you feel underdressed when you're slopping around in your swimmies or shorts. Want a drink? If there's nobody behind the bar, you help yourself and write what you've had in the honesty book!

It wasn't the 5-star hotel I'd been dreaming about, but it was every bit as enjoyable and had two great advantages over the Corsican holiday: one, we didn't have to go through all the hassle of flying home afterwards and, two, it's close enough that we can return for the odd night when we've saved up some more dosh. Time to crack on with the freelance writing . . .

Jan Edwards ©2008