Even as an adult in my thirties I still have very little experience staying in hotels. Growing up, there were always too many of us on family holidays to ever stay in one – we’d have had to take over the whole property. I remember once being asked by a stranger if we were on a school trip while my family and I were queueing to board a plane.
It always made more financial sense for us to go camping or stay in self-catering accommodation for example. Somewhere that could house our immediate family plus aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and the kitchen sink. This made for many special and often hilarious memories that I won’t bore you with and, needless to say, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
However, now that I’m all grown up and have a child of my own, when it came to looking at holidays where I was going to be the sole parent I was mildly terrified . Could a holiday where I am taking on the full parental load actually be worth it and, dare I say, relaxing? This is where the idea of a hotel sounded incredibly enticing. The thought of not having to cook any meals, wash any dishes and having nothing to think about other than deciding between the hotel infinity pool or the private beach each day, lured me in.
In the days leading up to our trip both my daughter and I had caught our hundredth cold of the year, no doubt picked up at her nursery, and were already exhausted. Considering a direct flight from London to Corfu is only three hours, the journey felt p.