I hate being wrong. I really do. It doesn’t happen often mind you, but I might just have an example for you.
I really wanted to go camping in France for our holiday next year. It seemed like a much better-value way of having a holiday in the sun and a compromise between Husband and I about where to go and what to do.
But the prices have been going up and up, so when we finally came to look at it in detail, it was going to be close to £2,500 for 11 nights, plus fuel to get us there and back. Oh, and all the food and drink for while we’re there.
So I had a quick look at package holidays, which this year had been totally unaffordable being in the order of £3k for self catering for a fortnight in the school hols.
Maybe it’s the economic climate, but the package holiday companies seem to have got back their sense of realism and all of a sudden we can have two weeks all inclusive at a 4* resort in July school hols for £3,500. That’s starting to seem like quite a good deal, even if it means Husband gets his way.
Still, if the consequences of me being wrong are two weeks in the sun with no cooking and without 24 hours of travelling to get there, I reckon I can take that on the chin.
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