It was the year I finally received my degree and I decided to take my son away for a few days. As money was tight, I began my search with a trawl through the local newspaper for a bargain. A four-day coach trip to Disneyland, Paris sounded perfect. But a woman at the tour firm told me that all of the spaces had been filled; almost in the same breath, she said there was another, "very similar trip to France". It wasn't Disneyland, but "it would be nice all the same". I booked our places.
Two weeks later we were on the coach to Dover. My 16-year-old seemed concerned that all of the other passengers were over retirement age; but I told him not to be silly. Things would be different once we got off the ferry. I was wrong. The same small group of people accompanied us into France. "Are you sure you booked the right holiday?" he kept asking. "Don't be silly" I told him again. "How could I go wrong with a trip to France? Besides, the lady told me how nice it would be."
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