Holidays, or vacations as the 'other people' like to call them, are not what they used to be.
When I grew up, we were so poor we couldn't have holidays as people class them now. My younger brother and I were fortunate enough to survive a 7-hour journey to spend a week with our grandparents. It wasn't that they lived thousands of miles away, transport was just so shit then, it took 3 hours to travel 100 miles.
We were so agitated on the journey that we spent the entire time repeating "Are we there yet?" until we fell asleep. Not because we were bored but because we were anxious to be there. However, when we finally arrived - we were so excited we couldn't sleep.
After our parents had dumped us there and gone somewhere else to practice making babies or something, we would spend days hunting for other stuff we had never seen.
Grandpa Goth taught us how to make bows and arrows from trees with penknives. He taught us how to hunt things, and afterwards Grandma Goth taught us how to fix the poor animals we had inadvertedly speared but not killed.
It was a holiday because we came back better people than when we went and with a different view on life. We learned things we could never hope to attain where we lived for the other 50 weeks of the year.
If it rained, we got wet. We ate what was given to us and didn't ask for a free gift. We didn't need money as there was nothing we needed to buy.
And, before some smart-arse comments, yes I know how many weeks are in a year - but I haven't explained what occurred during week 2 of the holiday.......