I am a little worried.  Only a little – right now, of course.  The actual (possible) events are a long way off.

I was born and brought up, for most of my childhood, in the middle of the glorious countryside of Herefordshire.  For the UK, this was one of the places furthest from the sea.  Yes, sure, when we went on our 2 week holiday, we went to the beaches of North Wales (and, sometimes, even had sun and warmth, I seem to remember).  But most of the 6 weeks of summer holidays, we were, as kids, stuck in the middle of this countryside.  And, so, we played in the garden (which was huge) or went walking or playing in the fields and woods near the house.

Certain things I remember would not be allowed now.  Like the bales of straw in the field opposite, where, every summer, we went and made houses of these bales, lugging the heavy bales to form walls and roofs, creating dens.  I was one of those kids that also liked to walk, across the fields and through woods, on my own, looking at the flora and fauna, enjoying the calming effect.

Now, as I am older, for me, the countryside is special.  It invokes images of tranquillity, of a tamed wildness, of being at peace.  Last summer, in the hills of Piedmont, I enjoyed, for a few days, thanks to N&S, the countryside and the hills that, somewhat, reminded me of Herefordshire.  And, every day, went walking with the boys, which they enjoyed immensely.

And then, for lunch or the evening, there is always a town or village nearby where, in the UK, one can find a country pub with good beer (one hopes) and, possibly, some pub grub or here, in Italy, you might chance upon some nice country restaurant.

One thing about my childhood that I always hated was our summer holiday to the beach.  I hated it for many, many reasons – we went in a caravan and, later, when the four kids were older, we had an awning attached, which was where we slept (of course).  The big drama of packing the caravan (to make sure the weight was evenly distributed), the putting up of the awning which had to be done even when it was pissing down with rain, the showering in some toilet block on the camp-site, the daily preparation and trek to the beach, my parents always preferring to be in a part of the beach without too many neighbours, so a longer walk with all the ‘stuff’, also knowing that one had to return with all the ‘stuff’ at the end of the day, etc.  Oh, yes, I hated it.

And now, of course, I have certain things that make my holiday.  Being in the countryside where one can walk without the need to carry; eating at restaurants and bars rather than taking all your own food; having the opportunity to visit a church or a museum or, here, a vineyard or the like.

But, for those people brought up near to the sea, the beach was the place that they went during their time away from school.  To them it is the perfect place to relax.

And so it is with F.  He has told me that, after breakfast he goes to the beach and stays there all day.  When he returns home, at 6 or 7, he eats having not eaten at lunch.

My worry is that, this summer, assuming we go on holiday, this is what he will want to do.  For me, it is boring and hot and I’m not really one for lying there just to get brown.  Getting brown is a consequence of doing something in the sun, not the reason for the holiday.  I can swim but I’m not good – basic, I think you would say.  But for him it’s his way to completely relax.  For me it is not.

Or, maybe it is and I have just not been with a partner for whom this IS the summer holiday.  Perhaps I should try and see.  My worry is, what if I do get bored and after an hour or so on the beach, want to do something?  Go for a walk, visit the town, do something else?

I know I should wait and see and, if I really don’t like it, I’m sure we can compromise, both of us wanting this to work, after all.

It just niggles at me from time to time, is all.