AS often as not, no matter how much detail and organisation we put in to our long awaited break, sometimes it doesn’t always go to plan.

A couple of weeks ago my niece Maggie and her husband Martin flew off to Spain for a longed-for break. You see, like a lot of young couples nowadays, despite having two children under five, they both work and have to save hard for their annual sunshine trip.

“After all,” Maggie stated.

“We need quality family time together.”

However, day three of their precious time away, the couple were horrified to discover that their three-year-old was covered in spots.

And I mean lots of spots because it turned out that the wee one had chickenpox.

“Janice, the poor kids were put into quarantine and were not allowed to leave our apartment,” Maggie explained.

Apparently, like most youngsters, they love spending time in the water, but could only look out of their apartment in envy at the three surrounding swimming pools bustling with spot-free kids enjoying themselves.

“We felt like outcasts,” she moaned.

“The kids weren’t even allowed in to the restaurant.”

According to Maggie, this meant that she and her husband had to take it in turns to eat alone in the restaurant whilst the other watched the kids.

“We were either holed up together in the apartment getting on each other’s nerves, or separated at meal times in order to get fed!”, she said.

“So much for quality family time."

My friend Mae and I recently holidayed in Benidorm and unusually for us there were no disasters.

Some hiccups maybe, but no disasters.

The real headache was preparing for our holiday because we were flying out with one airline and flying home with another which meant that our baggage allowance was different.

“So we can take as much as we want on the way out so long as it fits in this case?,” Mae queried.

“But on the way back we are only allowed 10kg even if there is still space in the case?”

“That’s right Mae,” I confirmed.

“And on the way back I have to put my handbag in my suitcase too?

“And I’m only allowed 100ml per item…..?”

Argh……..

For those of you who have never experienced Benidorm, it seems to turn into a magical surreal world at night time.

Having finally hit the town we couldn’t wait to experience some of the live shows and the first tribute band we experienced was Shoe Waddy Waddy, which took us right back to our younger years.

The following night we were singing along to the Rod Father, and if you closed your eyes, consumed a few light refreshments and had a good imagination, then it really was Rod Stewart on the stage.

Rhyming off the list of tribute bands we planned to watch I called home and spoke to my mum.

“We saw the Rod Father and tonight we are going to see Pete Loaf.”

“Pete Loaf?”

She was none the wiser.

“Oh my, sounds like you’re in Las Vegas,” she said seriously.

“Not quite mum,” I laughed.

“But we’re having a great time.

“And tomorrow night Mae wants to see the drag queen Sheila Blige.”

But somehow that one was over her head too.

The following afternoon Mae headed to the beach bar whilst I rested for a while.

“I’ll come and join you in an hour,” I promised.

And sure enough an hour later I spotted Mae sitting on her own in a cafe bar with her Kindle in one hand and a white wine spritzer in the other.

Settling down next to her I couldn’t help but notice a white plastic rose on the table.

“Something to tell me?,” I said.

Mae grinned as I added: “I mean, I’ve only left you on your own for an hour, so what’s with the rose?”

Mae signalled over to my right where a crowd of about thirty sun tanned stag party goers were sitting.

“See the tattooed one with the cowboy hat Janice,” she nodded sideways.

To be honest they were all tattooed, but only one had a cowboy hat on so I nodded too.

“He gave me the rose.”

“Really?”

“Yep, he bought me a drink, asked for my mobile number and presented me with the white rose.”

I was temporarily lost for words because we were in Benidorm and no one is romantic or serious in Benidorm, especially not anyone from a stag party.

“That was lovely thing to do Mae,” I didn’t want to dampen my pal’s happiness.

“What’s his name?,” I dared to ask.

“Rod.”

“Rod,” I confirmed.

“And where’s Rod from?”

“Hull.”

I took a large slurp of wine and thought for a moment before confirming.

“Rod from Hull.”

However Mae didn’t flinch.

Even when I sarcastically asked where his emu was, the penny never dropped.

“Oh well,” I thought to myself.

“Perhaps that’s the magic of Benidorm!”