Since Sunshine is possibly the only doctor I can think of that wouldn’t immediately dismiss my new ‘medical’ discovery, and she’s locked away in the Big Brother house, I’ll just have to go this one alone.
symptoms of serious holiday envy:
Similar to SAD, SHE results in listlessness, audible sighs and a general disinterest in anything
Unless they are giving out free ice creams*.
The inability to talk about someone else’s holiday without sulking, refusing to buy them a round or dismissing their plans to go to Marrakesh because ‘everyone goes there, even my parents’.
Wearing excess layers of clothing because ‘it’s not actually that hot; I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss about it. It’s far hotter in [insert name of last holiday destination visited here]’.
Adopting a permanent tangerine look due to an unfortunate (and dangerous) addiction to tanning beds, because you want to ‘match’ everyone else.
symptoms may become aggravated under the following conditions:
The entire office decamping to Estonia for the weekend, leaving behind the lowly intern and some guy they only hired last month*.
Soaring temperatures during work hours*. Particularly an issue in offices without windows.
Failure in securing tickets to any sort of summer festival that involves getting drunk in a tent, listening to music and not washing for at least 72 hours.
signs of serious distress and practical solutions:
Refusal to leave the house unless it is to an airport, ferry port, or similar. Should this occur, it is always a good idea to set up ‘holiday’ events in the comfort of their own city/town/village/hamlet. A sandpit and paddling pool are a good start. Hire a ‘foreign-looking’ friend to walk by frequently and try and flog them blue leopard print towels and some sort of noisy musical instrument. If you really want to splash out, hire an overweight 80-year-old man to sit next to them wearing only a Speedo.
Last minute booking of a Club 18-30 holiday. This is inexcusable and extremely serious. Should this occur, the only option is to cancel the booking for them and replace it with any type of ‘in-abroad’ alternative. Literally: anything. Even if this does mean going somewhere really awful and bleak, like Russia. They will soon realise, after two weeks of eating nothing but unidentifiable lumps of meat and cabbage, sleeping on the floors of old ladies houses in Communist tower blocks with burnt out cars outside, and getting shouted at by angry drunk Russians, that they would rather be at home eating fruit pastille ice lollies with their feet in the paddling pool**.
*See the Ink office, Shoreditch.
**I’m not being mean to Russia. This did really happen to me.