It was the worst holiday ever. Screaming infant spends whole time throwing up and in excruciating pain, making life a misery not only for the rest of their weary family but also anyone within a 25m radius.
The searing intense heat meant going outside in the sunshine for anything longer than ten minutes was a trial and the resort was so tacky anyway that you wouldn’t want to leave the relative calm of the apartment.
Things got so bad that the family packed up their bags, headed for the airport and jumped on the next possible flight home, forsaking the rest of their scheduled vacation.
So the story goes, whenever the horrific holiday of August 1988 in Tenerife is brought up. And yes, I was the screaming child.
However, heading to Lanzarote with our eleven month old in February couldn’t go the same way surely, could it?!
Sophie and I waiting at the airport
Things did not start well. With a 5am get up in line for her, Sophie woke up feeling very rough and, after surviving the flight itself, was let down by her stomach again in the baggage reclaim line. Poor little thing. Was this how it was going to be?
When my wife became very unwell later that same evening, it looked like the curse of the Canaries had struck once again.
We worried that illness was going to define our holiday.
Part 2 tomorrow will explain whether it turned out that way.