Holidays are the new status symbol for bragging rights, according to a report out yesterday. Tanya Gold takes it with a pinch of salt
They'll never know you weren't here. Photograph: Alison Wright/Corbis
One of the immutable truths of the universe is that you should never listen when insurance brokers talk about social trends. Their epiphanies are guns loaded with self-interest. But they do it anyway and the latest spokesperson to stand up and become the insurance industry's response to Peter York is the senior manager of underwriting for Halifax Travel Insurance, the fabulously named Paul Birkhead.
Birkhead had his moment in the murky zeitgeist puddle yesterday, when he threw back the curtain on the Halifax Insurance Survey. Ignoring people who participate in Halifax Insurance Surveys is another immutable truth of the universe because their epiphanies are always loaded with self-importance and/or self-delusion. But they do it anyway, too, and this is what they said. They lie about their holidays. (So how, the sensible person will ask, do we know they aren't lying to the Halifax? As far as we know they could be lying about going on holiday when instead they sat at home watching Richard and Judy with the curtains closed.)
Some 9%, says Mr Birkhead, pretend it was sunny on their break, even when a hurricane hit their resort and squashed it. Some say the food was delicious, even if they were poisoned by rogue ravioli and died, to presumably lie about the funeral they received in the Dordogne. Others say the view from their hotel room was wonderful, even if it was of a nuclear power plant. Other popular lies include: I got a bargain in the charming local market (translation -- I was mugged and rabbit-punched in the liver); I lost weight (I gained 80 pounds and a tape-worm); I had sex (potential partners vomited as I approached); I saw celebrities (I didn't see celebrities).
But Mr Birkhead goes on, topping off his cake with a concluding cherry drawn from the data the liars have lied to him and his army of lied-to researchers. "Holidays," he says, "have become the new Rolex or Porsche, a status symbol used to impress friends, family and colleagues."
Now this is not a lie. This is a mistake. An error. A sun-burnt boob falling out of a cheap polyester bikini. Those who get their contemporary trend information from real sources -- acquaintances, friends and families -- will realise that Mr Birkhead wasted all his paper-clips. Let us forget for a moment that he sounds as if he is drawing his conclusions from re-runs of Dynasty. (Porsches? Rolexes? Shoulder pads? Alexis and Dex in bed with a bottle of champagne?)
People who like to lie always lie and people who like to boast always boast. (And people who like Norfolk always like Norfolk). But the average, normal, Guardian reading, non-survey responsee of 2007 doesn't use their holidays as a status symbol. Not anymore. As the planet boils, the ice-caps melt and Heathrow airport increasingly resembles hell with a Starbucks concession, we are downsizing, eco-touristing and going local. Cornwall is the new Riviera. Margate the new St Barts. Blackpool the new Galapagos. Hull the new Kos. (And to make these destinations sound thrilling we merely pretend there are killer sharks off the coast of St Ives. It's so easy.)
And even if we were so foolish as to bloat our carbon footprint with boastful trips to Timbuktu, we wouldn't dare to mention it at any polite water cooler. Not in today's warming world. And that, Mr Birkhead of the Halifax, is the truth.
