George Bernard Shaw once said that ‘A perpetual holiday is a good working definition of hell’. I’m here to analyse whether this is true. He could have meant that a holiday from work or school forever would be hell but I like to think and therefore I’m testing out the theory of actually moving to a place that was once your favourite holiday destination. Will that place still hold all the carefree, luxurious magic that it does when you escape there for a few weeks of rest and relaxation, or will paying tax and contributing to the debate about what time the village lights should be turned off kill that magic for you?
My favourite holiday destination was always Roquecor in the south of France. A tiny hilltop village near Toulouse, far from the coast and in the rural mainland. I have been visiting since I was a little girl and to me it always represented peace and happiness. For that one or two weeks a year I was free, even at four years old I think I loved the segregation from daily nursery and weekly ballet lessons. As I got older that feeling of escapism grew, particularly depending on the unfolding dramas affecting my life at different times. People are now saying this trip I am embarking on, taking the plunge of escaping abroad is just that; escaping. I will confirm now that this is all in the name of journalism but I know that deep down I am hoping for the reassuring joy and tranquillity that I experienced annually on holiday in Roquecor, but is that all it’s supposed to be, a holiday?
