Jonny McCambridge: Thinking about summer holidays, past and to come, on a damp and dreary January morning

I notice there is a new shop in the village and a small crowd of people are gathered outside. My curiosity pricked, I move in that direction expecting to see another gift shop or deli, which are already abundant.

Instead I see that it is a travel agent which has opened its doors. I find myself thinking that there is something astute in launching such a venture at this time. In the dark January days we all need something to look forward to. I stare in the window at the pictures of the luxurious cruise liners and the white beaches.

I walk on but I am now thinking about holidays. Will we get to go abroad this summer? How much would it cost?

Soon, I am remembering past holidays. The backpacking trip around Europe where I carried my wife’s rucksack containing a hairdryer, straighteners and countless pairs of shoes. The camping trip in Italy where our luxury chalet turned out to be windowless tin box.

The walking holiday where my feet swelled up so grotesquely that I had to spend hours with them submerged in iced water. The Barcelona trip where the only way I could make the pharmacist understand that I had blisters was to take my sock off and present my foot on the counter.

The open-air breakfast in a five-star hotel high in the mountains where I was attacked by wasps and had to fling the omelette which the swarm so coveted over the edge of a cliff and flee. The island trip where the rain fell so heavily that the taxi driver would not get out of his vehicle to remove our cases from the boot and left us to deal with the deluge.

And I find myself thinking about my wedding. My wife and I were married on the Amalfi Coast in Italy. To honeymoon, we travelled south, on to Sicily and then Greece where we remained until our funds were extinguished.

My wife organised virtually all of the trip. To make it look like I was pulling my weight, I said I would arrange the flight from Sicily to Athens. The cheapest option, which I selected, was a booking which included changing flights in Naples.

My first serious error was failing to realise that there are two airports on Sicily. The one where I had booked us onto an early morning flight was a full 120 miles away from our hotel. This meant an expensive car transfer in the middle of the night.

When we reached the airport our bags were checked in all the way to Athens. As the small plane rumbled down the runway I began to get anxious about how narrow the window seemed to be between us landing in Naples and the next flight taking off. I couldn’t stop worrying about it and nervously glanced at my watch throughout the short flight.

By the time our plane arrived in Naples it was already past the hour when check-in for the next flight was supposed to close. We rushed past a surprised Italian air stewardess in a red uniform at the top of the plane’s steps and headed for the terminal.

There was a long queue at arrivals and we had to elbow and push our way past several travellers just to get into the main body of the airport. We went to the check-in desk. It had closed. I pleaded and argued with the receptionist to let us through. Eventually she did, unwillingly.

Then there was a long queue at security. Taking my wife by the hand we forced our way through it, mumbling apologies. When we got to the front of the queue they didn’t want to let us go any further because the flight had already closed. I argued and pleaded with the staff and they eventually relented.

This brought us to the departure gate which was deserted. I found an attendant and told her we needed to get through. She said the bus to our flight had gone 15 minutes ago and it was already fully boarded.

Once more I argued and pleaded that this was our honeymoon. She finally agreed to summon another bus just to take my wife and I to the plane.

It was only as we were being driven across the tarmac that I remembered about our luggage. I had to accept if we made the flight to Athens then the luggage would be left behind, and we’d have to make some later arrangement to get it sent on.

Then the bus pulled up at the plane, which was about to close its doors. It was a small plane and seemed familiar. Then I saw the surprised Italian air stewardess in a red uniform at the top of the steps.

It was exactly the same plane I had dragged my wife off less than half an hour ago to take her on a crazed and panicked journey through Naples airport. The surprise of the air stewardess was probably explained by the fact that we were never meant to get off the plane.

Our luggage was safely stowed in the hold below, destined, as now were we, for Athens.

I am smiling now as I buy the croissants in the local shop. I am remembering what has gone before, but also looking towards the future. I decide I’ll talk to my family about holidays when I get home.