Half term is a total washout – I will go to any lengths to travel abroad

I heard some yummy mummies in my local park talking about chartering private planes as if it was as essential in a pandemic as a priority slot on Ocado. I always thought hiring a jet was reserved for the super-rich and celebrities? Maybe they just really don’t want to wear a mask? But at £20,000 a pop one-way to Ibiza on a 13-seater plane, there must be a good reason. 

I’m intrigued – they notice my raised eyebrows – and reassure me that it’s an investment in their health and mental wellbeing.  Mainly it’s safer – particularly if somebody is high risk – like my 88-year old-dad – but it’s also more flexible, so you can book last minute to make sure the destination of your choice is still in a travel corridor.  

It’s even possible to take pets. “Muggles would not be a problem for a short-haul to Europe,” this yummy mummy tells me. She obviously hasn’t spent any time with him.  

“It sounds handy,” I say politely, “with travel plans up in the air.” God knows how much it would be to fly on a private long-haul aircraft? They haven’t got a clue. “We are off to the Cotswolds,” the same mum says. Curiosity got the better of me and I got a quote from a private jet company – for a hefty £100,000 you can travel to the Maldives one-way. Maybe the rest of us can still make a quick getaway in economy on a commercial flight for some winter sun?

With Christmas approaching, it’s dawning on me that I simply don’t want to be stuck at my dad's house in a support bubble in East Sheen but socially distanced from him for the festive season along with two kids under four and a mad dog. 

I had ruled out our annual trip to Dubai as a nonstarter this year – despite it being all booked and paid for. We have been going every year since Alex died in 2014 – that is six Christmases.  

But when I was woken up at 5.30 am the other day by a friend sending me 21 photos of herself in the Maldives, I thought to hell with Covid.  The trouble is I mistook the ping of my phone for an alarm clock and got up like a robot to do the school run.  It was pitch black and the only light was from my phone with a video still playing of her snorkelling with rainbow-coloured fish.  

“It’s off the quarantine list – so I’ve extended my stay by a week,” her text read. “It’s like the universe is going my way,” she added. Also as luck would have it, “the holiday paid for itself”, as she “sold a box of tiles” from her interior design company “virtually to the penny” of the cost of the holiday. “F*** off,” I scream. It's just too much. 

I have to leave my phone on because of my dad – I thought it was an emergency.  And then it dawns on me: oh my god, it’s half term. Go back to bed.  

But it is too late, my mind is off like a racehorse leaving the starting gate.  I haven’t felt this motivated since trying to score on Christmas Day with no money after escaping a rehab back in 1995.  

As I feed Muggles his diet dog food, I realise this brutal wake-up call at the crack of dawn is a catalyst. As the saying goes,  luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity. 

I am suddenly willing to go to any lengths to go abroad.  It’s not really surprising considering half term is a washout. I’ve had to invest in waterproof trousers just to get the kids to the zoo and a quaint model village outside London. Is it really out of the question to go to Dubai?  Now that it’s just as likely to get Covid in the UK as it is abroad, why waste any more time? 

Could me, my dad, Lola and Liberty escape for some winter sun safely?  Would passers-by respect an old man trying to live life and give him a wide berth and let him jump the queue?  Should I get my dad a PPE outfit like Naomi Campbell wore to travel in?  Although our airline offers free Covid cover – it only covers medical costs up to £150,000 per person and £75 a day hotel expenses for 14 days – it’s not a big enough chunk of money. 

But after searching online for the right travel insurance and then making calls, I hit a brick wall.  Nobody will insure my dad because Dubai is not on the UK travel corridor list. They tell me to pick any country on the travel corridor list – Mykonos, Greenland, Cuba, the Canaries? But we are all booked for Dubai.  I’m given a number for a high-risk area insurance company who tell me they don’t insure anybody over 70. Isn’t it a bit ageist? 

 “But he’s not like a normal 88,” I say. “He’s as fit as a fiddle and still works. “We just want to go away for Christmas!” 

 What happens if we have to call it off? What does the alternative look like? It’s simply not worth thinking about – just yet. At least with coronavirus a big family Christmas of 17 of us is off the cards.  As much as we all love each other, big get-togethers are like entering a war zone. I start looking at other options – the Maldives – yes I can get him insured to go there. But the only way we can afford it is if we share a beach room. 

I start looking at honeymoon packages to see if we can get any upgrades or special deals thrown in. But it’s not a good look. What will the hotel staff think? I don’t care, I’m that desperate. I just keep thinking of that aquamarine sea. Would my dad enjoy the infinity pool or would he swim off the edge? Do catheters and jacuzzis mix? Can I really expect my dad to sleep on the sofa bed while we take the king-size? 

I look down the countries on the current travel corridor list – Vietnam? But just as I think I have a handle on it, I realise I don’t. If any of these countries go off the list, then travel insurance is void. Will be out of lockdown in time for non-essential travel anyway? I turn off my laptop.  

“Come on kids, put on your wellies, we are going to the park to jump in some muddy puddles!” I say.  I hear them scream for joy. It could be worse, I could be in the Maldives in the pouring rain. What with climate change, you never know.