Wait until you've had a few holidays like this:
A holiday without the caravan usually means paying over the odds for a horrible packed flight, with the tiniest suitcase you've ever seen (the luggage allowance), the flight is late, and when you arrive you're sardined into a bus along with the family from hell, dumped at a miles from anywhere hotel, where the food is awful and everyone comes down with the Delhi Belly. The pool is overcrowded, and the sunbeds reserved by others, the disco goes on until 3.00 in the morning, and then the drunks stumble home around the outside of your room and along the corridors, shouting and playing loud music until 6.00 - when the chambermaid wakes you up, to give you new towels.
Breakfast is awful, and so it goes on - you get sunburnt, the kids get stroppy, and it's a bus ride to the nearest bar. You pay over the odds (again) for a 'Cultural Night at the Local Authentic Pie Eating Competition' - listen to the Tour Guide Charleeen-Marie's interesting guide to the local carpet factory, jewellery store, and local produce merchant, and eventually arrive at the Cultural location in an old shed which looks like an ASDA warehouse, where recklessly Dad volunteers to enter the competition, only to be assaulted by the next contestant disputing how many pies have been eaten and by whom.
The belly dancer entertains all with her wobbly bits, you all get drunk on the cheap beer and wine, and go home to a hangover and the same noisy disco and returning revellers. You don’t sleep again and the following day have a quiet stroll, with a headache, through the ‘Englis Pubbs’ and ‘Irish Barrs’ of the authentic village street, where you get accosted by Time Share touts who manage to con you out of five grand as the deposit on the unbuilt ‘penthouse apartment’ at the far end of the street.
Eventually, at the end of a perfect fortnight you get back on the tour bus and the crowded plane, your return flight is delayed by 24 hours leaving you a bed on the airport floor along with the family from hell *(again), back into the no legroom seats on the plane (and the Ryanair £1 a go loo - fortunately your Delhi belly has cleared up) - and then you're home. However,your luggage isn’t returned until two weeks later so you have to make do with all your ‘second-best’ undies for the next fortnight.
Still you can console yourself that at least there's no awning to erect!