If, like me, you’re British and from the UK, then you’ll almost certainly associate the months of July and August with the phrase “summer holidays.”
Each year, kids across the country break up in July and don’t return to school until late August or early September. They get six or seven weeks during the warmest period of the year, usually filled with friends, family outings, long nights and the feeling that it all will never end.
Living on this miserable island with its mostly abysmal weather makes summer even more enticing, and the climate also bears a large responsibility for how well-travelled we are as a nation, because June, July and August are the months where millions of us flock to the continent’s mainland and beyond in search of sun, adventure and quality coastline.
I usually partake in this great tradition and have done since I was a baby, firstly with family holidays, then, as I got older, taking trips with my mates, girlfriend and even solo.
It’s something I’ve done every year since 2013 – the year I went on both my first and second lads’ holidays (one to Zante, the other, Magaluf) – with the exception of 2021, which only became a reality thanks to a little-known event called COVID.
Even so, I took to the skies in the September, jetting off to the not-so-traditional destinations of Kyrgyzstan and Jordan, meaning I missed that summer window by a matter of days.
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