Why I'm glad I don't have a beach house

If I had a holiday house by the sea, everything in my life would be better, I just know it.  Yeah, my beloved and I would go there every weekend to get away from the kids and rediscover our old romantic selves.  As soon as we’d arrive, I’d say “Hey, let’s make love right here, right now” and she’d say “Sure … just after I finish this 30,000-piece jigsaw puzzle that’s completely purple” because she loves doing jigsaw puzzles every time we go to our holiday house.   So I’d sit and watch her do the purple jigsaw puzzle, then I’d watch a bit of TV, then I’d go to bed early and we’d head home first thing the next morning.

OK, maybe it’s not going to spark up my relationship, but it will definitely rev up my social life.   Oh yeah, if I had a holiday house by the sea, I’d invite all my crazy-fun friends for weekend sleepovers – I’d tell them to bring lots of food and alcohol, and I’d provide the dishes and some washing-up liquid so they could wash up afterwards.  Then we’d eat and drink and party, and I’d bring out my guitar and sing great sing-along songs that everyone loves singing along too, but if anyone tried singing along, I’d say “Shut the %$#@ up!  It’s my holiday house!  I sing alone!”  Then half an hour later everyone would suddenly realise they had to head home immediately because they’d forgotten to feed their dogs and they’d all leave at exactly the same time, even the ones who didn’t have a dog.

Alright, maybe the party thing is a mistake: forget the friends.  But if I had a holiday house by the sea, I’d still use it every weekend – yeah I’d go there alone  to get some good, productive writing-work done.  I’d set up on a little table by a window and write solidly from nine in the morning to maybe around four, even five-past-nine in the morning.  And after that good, productive writing-stretch, I’d take a well-earned walk along the beach, but I’d be so lost in my writerly thoughts, I’d accidentally fall into a jagged-edged rockpool, slicing open my calf, and getting stung by a Portuguese Man O’ War jellyfish that lived in the rockpool.  And there’d be no one around to rescue me so I’d die slowly, underwater, as the tide came in, over the next eight and a half hours.

Rethink, rethink.  OK, I’ve got it: if I had a holiday house by the sea, I’d never use it. Nope, I’d just rent it out on Airbnb and rake in the big moolah. But I guess I’d still have to go there regularly to keep the place in a pristine state of holiday-houseyness. Make sure the beds were neatly made with starfish-themed linen. And the bathroom was well stocked with starfish-themed toilet paper.  And the living room was nicely decorated with fresh starfish that I’d found alive on the beach then brought home and dried in the oven until they were dead, then painted a pretty nautical-blue so they looked alive again …

You know what?  If I had a holiday house by the sea, I’d sell it. Then I’d find other friends with holiday houses by the sea and I would spend my weekends sleeping over at their houses instead.  Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.  Much better.

Danny Katz is a newspaper columnist, a Modern Guru, and the author of the Little Lunch books for kids, now a new TV series on ABC3.