National Holiday and Celebrations Day.

 National Holiday and Celebrations Day.

Are we still hungover after the festive frivolities? Did we really eat and drink far too much that was bad for us in the first place? Now, the chances are that all of us have made a full recovery from the excesses and vast consumption of food and drink. Christmas really does take everything out of us or perhaps you enjoy seeing the family and wish you could do Christmas 365 days of the year. But there can only be one specific period where party games are acceptable and nothing else seems to matter. 

And yet today is National Holiday and Celebrations Day and TV is convinced it's 86 in the sweltering heat outside and you should have packed your suitcases by now. Besides, the upper and middle classes are already on the skiing slope dressed appropriately in boiler suits and this is definitely appealing. But here we are in the middle of January and people are still half way around the world on the cruise of a lifetime and in the Seychelles, they're lying back in their hammocks surrounded by stunningly colourful hibiscus, wonderful eucalyptus and the gorgeous scent of jasmine.

Summer holidays seemed to belong to a completely different planet and country. Spring seems a lifetime away and the trees look bare and forlorn. The green foliage of the trees now feels as though it may never return anytime shortly. Once again the British weather was at its most predictable but then again this was never different. It rained heavily last night but then again who cares? The street lights remind you of a local theatre but without the curtains. Everything is thrown into sharp relief. It's dark at half past four in the afternoon, runners racing past you at full pelt and they just look like dark shadows. 

Yesterday afternoon all of us would have quite happily jumped onto plane to an exotic island in the Far East and just spent the rest of the winter drinking coconut water, bathing in turquoise coloured Indian ocean seas and just relaxing in some luxury and comfort. Politicians are just oblivious to the economic problems in Britain and Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer is just the most shocking PM Britain has ever known. What's the point in politics or politicians? You'd be well advised to head straight to your local high street travel agency or book a vacation online. 

TV advertisements come in all shades of pastel. You either love or loathe them. They've been around now for so many decades that you'd be forgiven for thinking that there wasn't a time when they weren't there. But here in the middle of winter and there they are, like an old friend in the corner of your TV screen. They're smiling at you, laughing and joking at you, jumping into hotel pools and dancing in their summery swimming trunks. But, hold on, these are the commercials that are supposed to be good for you. 

Commercials on the TV are supposed to be the ultimate morale booster, lifting of spirits, restoring the feelgood factor, making you feel as if you too could be experiencing this release from the workaday toil and drudgery of the modern world. There go the family with toothpaste smiles, full of unbridled happiness and enjoyment. Dad is wearing a bathing ring, mum is closely following behind dad and the kids are way ahead and about to leap into the hotel pool. They then declare that they're on the beach which is factually incorrect because the beach is probably five miles away.

During the winter in Britain, there were TV programmes called the Holiday programme or Wish You Were Here introduced by Judith Chalmers and Chris Kelly. They were brilliant pieces of telly because their sales pitches were so persuasive that you had no hesitation in booking your summer holiday immediately. Judith Chalmers always looked bronzed and well tanned and, at the time, Majorca, Benidorm and Lloret Del Mar sounded like a Spanish paradise to the British tourist. 

So it was that my late and wonderful mum would be ready and poised for action. By this time over 50 years ago, she would invariably be down at the local travel agents in Ilford, Essex and scanning the delights of the Iberian peninsula. She'd bring home all of those glossy brochures and, without fail, always have something special lined up for her family. 

At the time there was Thompson's holiday, Cosmos or some colour supplement holiday book replete with half built hotels and cement mixers in front of you. Then we'd stare in some astonishment. On every page, there was the standard photograph of hundreds of hotels with seemingly endless balconies, a less than flattering image of the swimming pool but, then again, it did look good to you. After a while, you began to wish that your mum would make the choice as soon as possible. This really was exciting. 

So we flicked through this golden document and we marvelled at the grandeur and size of these glorious retreats and knew that, sooner or later, June wouldn't be that far away. But to a schoolchild, it was hard to escape the feeling that six months down the line you too would be taking off on a plane. Then, you'd realise that the kids in your class at school probably went with their family on caravan holidays or camping in the country, quite possibly a week in Clacton, Great Yarmouth, Blackpool or Brighton. 

You were aware, quite quickly, that there was a travesty of justice here. Quite possibly, you were the only kid in your class going to Spain for 10 days. Now at the time it may not have occurred to you fully because none of the children of my age felt deprived. For they, too, were about to go on holiday with their parents and that had to be regarded as the greatest adventure as well. 

But with swimming trunks by the ready, plenty of T-shirts and shorts packed, off you went. For a reason that none of us questioned at home, mum would always pick a 10 day holiday. It was always 10 days and that was always sufficient. She would peruse the list of days and prices and somehow that same figure would always register vividly in her mind. It was by far the cheapest bargain on offer and far more affordable than a fortnight in Fiji which, of course, would be astronomical. 

To this present day, people need to look forward to a summer holiday because January is the middle of winter and June represents summer and warmer weather. The contrast could not be greater. So it is that we celebrate National Holiday and Celebrations Day. We should always cherish carnival days, festival days, families licking ice cream with natty hats, kids chasing each other with complete impunity and without any inhibitions at all. 

Regrettably though, come April the 23rd this year we'll probably forget about this day of all days. It is quite the most momentous day and should be celebrated as such but never as much as it should be. It is St George's Day, the most obvious excuse to allow patriotism to seep into our soul. But on Shakespeare's birthday, there is a sense that the day is just like any other so we close the curtains, nip out to the pub for a quiet pint and acknowledge nothing in particular before just going about our business as usual. 

But hold on everybody. It is admittedly January and the beginning of the year and there is no real incentive to go sailing on a yacht, going on safari in Kenya or just soaking up the sun. Still, we can pretend that we are indeed on the beach provided we close our eyes and imagine that we are. We can all find time to dream about the sand, sea and gallons of sangrias. We can drink cocktails by the bar because that's what you do on holiday and travelling does broaden our horizons.

So pick up those Crocs and Flip Flops and don't forget the bottles of Sun Factor 45 because that's essential. Over 50 years ago, as a kid, you felt an obligation to just sit in the sweltering heat all day long. In hindsight, you should never have been quite as foolish as you were back then, but, at the time, we were just blissfully happy to be abroad. We'd be warned of the consequences of spending too long in the sun and, of course, you felt the soreness, the excessive red burn marks all over your body. How foolish.

That evening was devoted to smothering myself with Calamine cream which soothed the agonising pain on your chest, legs, arms and backs. You were completely burnt and the discomfort lasted for days. Still, your holiday had unfolded in front of you and there was always that magical pinball machine. As a kid you'd never seen anything like it. Here you were in the middle of Spain, watching both adults and children enthusiastically watching  that silverball bouncing off lights and numbers on a machine that rewarded with you another go if you'd accumulated 370,000 points. 

So there you have it folks. We're into the third week in January and it's time to think about celebrations and holidays as if they were always there in the background. Wherever we are in the world, it's the same procedure. You gather by the water cooler in your office or the drinks and snacks machine at school or college and the discussion is the same. They're off to India, the Maldives, Nigeria and South Africa before stopping off at the Ivory Coast for a week or two. Such talk, 50 years ago, would have been happily fobbed off as some ludicrous piece of wishful thinking. But over a quarter of a century into the new century and the world could hardly be a more different place. If you're drinking a pina colada in some far away land on the other side of the world, enjoy folks. Have a great time everybody.