How to Plan a Holiday (And Lose Your Mind Gracefully)

How to Plan a Holiday (And Lose Your Mind Gracefully)

Ah, the holiday. That sacred ritual where you escape your daily existence, throw some clothes in a suitcase, and willingly pay hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars to sleep in a bed that's not quite as comfy as yours, eat slightly undercooked chicken in a foreign language, and pretend you're "relaxing" while Google Maps leads you directly into a lake.

Planning a holiday sounds simple in theory: pick a place, book a flight, pack a bag, and go. But if you've ever actually attempted this feat, you know it's less "Eat Pray Love" and more "Cry Stress Forget Passport." So, here's a completely unreliable but brutally honest guide to planning a holiday—with enough humour to keep you from canceling the whole trip and just building a fort under your desk instead.

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Step 1: The Destination Dilemma

The first step in planning a holiday is choosing where to go, which is a lot like picking a Netflix movie: everyone has opinions, nobody agrees, and two hours later you're still scrolling and haven’t even packed a toothbrush.

You want somewhere warm. Your partner wants somewhere “culturally enriching,” which we all know is code for “has museums with no air-conditioning.” The kids want a pool and Wi-Fi so strong it can stream Minecraft videos from space.

Eventually, you compromise and settle on Italy. Or maybe Bali. Wait—didn’t Bali have those monkeys that steal sunglasses? Oh no. Back to square one.

After four hours and several arguments involving the phrase “this is why we never go anywhere,” you choose Portugalbecause it has beaches, history, AND pastries. Pastries are the universal language of peace.

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Step 2: Booking Flights and Accepting Financial Ruin

Now comes booking the flights. This is when you discover that airline pricing is a game of Russian Roulette played by a caffeine-fueled algorithm. The same flight is £150 at 3 a.m., £600 at noon, and vanishes completely if you dare open a second tab.

You try to outsmart the system by using "incognito mode," clearing your cookies, and booking with a VPN from the middle of the Pacific Ocean. None of it works. You end up paying $489 per person for a flight with three layovers, one of which involves a three-hour donkey ride across the Albanian Alps.

But hey, you’re going on holiday!

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Step 3: Accommodation Agony

Booking accommodation is deceptively easy until you realize every hotel with decent reviews is either fully booked or priced like you're buying a small island.

So you try Airbnb. You find a charming apartment with “authentic character,” which turns out to mean “one lightbulb and a shower that electrocutes you if you breathe wrong.”

You briefly consider camping. Then remember you're a human being and not a mosquito buffet.

Eventually, you find a “family-friendly boutique guesthouse,” which is either a lovely retreat or a scam operated by a goat named Marco. Only time will tell.

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Step 4: Packing – AKA The Ultimate Mind Game

Packing should be straightforward. It is not.

You start with a sensible list: underwear, toothbrush, sunscreen. Then your brain spirals. What if it rains? You need a raincoat. What if there’s a sudden opera? Better pack formalwear. What if you’re invited on a spontaneous kayaking adventure followed by a black-tie dinner in the forest?

You now have 37 outfits, 4 pairs of shoes, and a snorkel.

Meanwhile, your partner packs one bag with rolled-up shirts and smugness, and your child packs a single plush unicorn and a broken phone charger.

You’ve also forgotten socks. Again.

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Step 5: The Airport Experience

Ah, the airport: where time stops, logic dies, and you pay $11 for a bottle of water you’re not even sure you’re allowed to bring on the plane.

Security is where your suitcase gets flagged for “a suspicious banana-shaped object,” and you get intimately patted down while trying to explain your toothpaste tube is regulation size.

You finally board your flight and realize you’re seated between a man eating boiled eggs from a Ziploc bag and a toddler named Hugo who is very passionate about kicking your seat.

Welcome to relaxation.

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Step 6: Arriving... Sort Of

You land, bleary-eyed and 14% human, and immediately get lost. The taxi driver speaks no English but offers you a mysterious bottle of green liquid. You accept, because hydration is important and you’re too tired to resist peer pressure.

Your hotel, miraculously, exists. The bed is two twin mattresses pretending to be one. The view is “partial sea,” which means if you lean out the window and use a periscope, you can just see a splash.

But you're here. You made it. Now what?

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Step 7: The Activities (AKA We Will Have Fun, Dammit)

You try to relax. But then someone says, “Let’s not waste the day!” and next thing you know, you’re on a 7 a.m. guided walking tour with a man named Fabio who keeps using the phrase “now we climb.”

You learn more about 14th-century pottery than you ever wanted, while sweating through your passport and wondering if it’s socially acceptable to lie down in a fountain.

Eventually, you abandon culture and go full tourist: cocktails at noon, fried food, and enough souvenirs to open a small shop. You spend €18 on a handmade magnet shaped like a fish and declare it “worth every cent.”

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Step 8: The Inevitable Meltdown

No holiday is complete without at least one dramatic meltdown. Maybe it’s over a delayed bus, maybe a sunburn the shape of a fanny pack, maybe someone left the hotel key in a cafe two hours away.

There’s yelling. There’s pouting. There’s a moment where someone threatens to live at the airport out of spite.

This is normal.

Have an ice cream and forgive each other.

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Step 9: The Return Journey and Existential Crisis

The trip home is always a blur. You’re jet-lagged, broke, slightly bloated, and carrying sand in mysterious places.

You swear you need “a holiday to recover from your holiday.”

And as you collapse on your own bed, one thought runs through your head:

“Next time, let’s just go camping.”

(You won’t.)

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Final Word of Advice

Planning a holiday isn’t about perfection. It’s about the laughs, the stories, the weird cheeses, and the fact you survived four airports, two sunburns, and at least one argument about how maps work.

So go forth. Book the flight. Pack the snorkel. Just… maybe leave the opera tux at home.

And don’t forget the socks this time.

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Let me know if you'd like a version with specific destinations or characters added!

You said:

add France as a destination in the blog post

ChatGPT said:

Absolutely! Here's the revised version of the blog post with France hilariously woven into the narrative as the chosen destination. The rest of the humor and chaos remains gloriously intact.

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How to Plan a Holiday (And Lose Your Mind Gracefully)
Featuring croissants, Eiffel Towers, and possibly screaming in French.

Ah, the holiday. That sacred ritual where you escape your daily existence, throw some clothes in a suitcase, and willingly pay hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars to sleep in a bed that's not quite as comfy as yours, eat slightly undercooked chicken in a foreign language, and pretend you're "relaxing" while Google Maps leads you directly into a lake.

Planning a holiday sounds simple in theory: pick a place, book a flight, pack a bag, and go. But if you've ever actually attempted this feat, you know it's less "Eat Pray Love" and more "Cry Stress Forget Passport." So, here's a completely unreliable but brutally honest guide to planning a holiday—with enough humour to keep you from canceling the whole trip and just building a fort under your desk instead.

---

Step 1: The Destination Dilemma – “Let’s Go to France!”

The first step in planning a holiday is choosing where to go, which is a lot like picking a Netflix movie: everyone has opinions, nobody agrees, and two hours later you're still scrolling and haven’t even packed a toothbrush.

You want somewhere warm. Your partner wants somewhere “culturally enriching,” which we all know is code for “has museums with no air-conditioning.” The kids want a pool and Wi-Fi so strong it can stream Minecraft videos from space.

Eventually, someone dramatically slaps a travel magazine down on the table and yells: “FRANCE!”

And it begins to make sense. France has it all: romance, art, lavender fields, croissants the size of small mammals, and people who pretend they don’t understand you even when they do. You dream of sipping wine under the Eiffel Tower, strolling along the Seine, and maybe reenacting scenes from Emily in Paris, minus the budget and attractive wardrobe.

Done. France it is.

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Step 2: Booking Flights and Accepting Financial Ruin

Now comes booking the flights. This is when you discover that airline pricing is a game of Russian Roulette played by a caffeine-fueled algorithm. The same flight is $150 at 3 a.m., $600 at noon, and vanishes completely if you dare open a second tab.

You try to outsmart the system by using "incognito mode," clearing your cookies, and booking with a VPN from the middle of the Pacific Ocean. None of it works. You end up paying $489 per person for a flight with three layovers, one of which involves a three-hour donkey ride across the Albanian Alps.

But hey, you’re going to France!

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Step 3: Accommodation Agony – A Room With a View of the Bin

You now face the second boss battle: where to stay.

You start optimistically looking at quaint Parisian apartments. “Charming studio near the Champs-Élysées,” one says. Translation: 12 square feet of tile, one angry pigeon on the windowsill, and a shower that’s also the kitchen.

Hotel websites brag about their amenities like “a complimentary miniature soap,” “continental breakfast (featuring stale bread and a single orange),” and the ever-enticing “partial view of the Eiffel Tower,” which means if you hang out the window with a monocular, you can spot the tip behind an air-conditioning unit.

You settle for a guesthouse in Provence that promises “rustic elegance” and pray that it doesn’t involve livestock inside the bedroom.

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Step 4: Packing – AKA The Ultimate Mind Game

Packing should be straightforward. It is not.

You start with a sensible list: underwear, toothbrush, sunscreen. Then your brain spirals. What if it rains in Paris? What if there's a sudden invitation to a French opera? What if you’re mistaken for a celebrity and asked to walk a red carpet at Cannes?

Now you’ve packed a trench coat, three scarves, heels you’ve never worn, and a bottle of shampoo that weighs more than a baguette.

Meanwhile, your partner packs one elegant bag with rolled shirts and smugness. Your child packs a plush unicorn, a Game Boy from 2002, and some crumbs.

You also forgot socks. Again. In France. Sacré bleu.

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Step 5: The Airport Experience – Now Boarding: Despair

Ah, the airport: where time stops, logic dies, and you pay $11 for a bottle of water you’re not even sure you’re allowed to bring on the plane.

Security is where your suitcase gets flagged for “a suspicious tube of foot cream,” and you get intimately patted down while trying to explain your toothpaste is regulation size and definitely not explosive.

You finally board your flight and realize you’re seated between a man who brought a tuna sandwich from home and a toddler named Hugo who kicks your seat in Morse code.

Bienvenue à la détente.

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Step 6: Arriving in France – The Dream Meets Reality

You land in France, disoriented but proud. You step out of the airport breathing in the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread... and possibly diesel fumes.

The taxi driver speaks only French. You attempt to say your hotel’s address and accidentally order four croissants and insult his cousin. He forgives you with a shrug and drives 140 km/h down the motorway while listening to Edith Piaf and yelling at cyclists.

You arrive at your hotel, which does exist, and is exactly as described online—if you squint and lower your standards.

But you’re in France. You’re HERE. The Eiffel Tower sparkles, the pastries melt in your mouth, and the pigeons are fashionable.

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Step 7: The Activities – “Oui, We Must See Everything”

You try to relax. But someone says, “Let’s not waste the day!” and next thing you know, you’re on a sunrise tour of Versailles with a guide named Gérard who calls Marie Antoinette his “spiritual soulmate.”

You get lost in the Louvre, weep at the beauty of Monet’s water lilies, and climb 674 steps of Notre-Dame thinking “This better be worth the cardio.”

You attempt to order lunch in French, mix up the words for “chicken” and “sock,” and end up with a baguette and a confused waiter. You still tip 20%.

Later, you abandon all plans, sit at a café, order wine and cheese, and finally understand why the French just... linger.

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Step 8: The Inevitable Meltdown – “I Don’t Care About Castles Anymore!”

It’s bound to happen. Maybe it's a wrong train. Maybe it’s the 42nd crepe you can’t afford. Maybe it’s someone loudly arguing that they “didn’t come all the way to Europe to look at ANOTHER CHURCH.”

There's yelling, foot-stomping, and dramatic sighing. Possibly by you. Maybe even in French.

It’s okay. Have an éclair. Forgive everyone.

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Step 9: The Return Journey and Existential Crisis

The trip home is a blur. You’re jet-lagged, broke, and carrying enough cheese to alarm a sniffer dog.

You reflect on the magic of France: the art, the food, the elegant disdain, the nap you took under a sycamore tree in a vineyard while mildly drunk on rosé.

As you collapse on your own bed, one thought runs through your head:

“Next time, we’ll do Italy.”

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Final Word of Advice

Planning a holiday isn’t about perfection. It’s about the laughs, the language fumbles, the four-hour lunch breaks, and the fact you survived French plumbing and multiple baguette-related incidents.

So go forth. Book the flight. Pack the trench coat. Try to pronounce "Roussillon."

And don’t forget the socks this time.