'Mum, what are we doing for Dad's birthday?' My heart sank. 'Er, don't know, maybe go out to dinner?' 'Oh come on, Mum, it is a big one and Dad's always saying he wants to visit Beth and Les in New York. I've already looked into it and flights are cheap right now. We should go.'
Mmmm. My elder daughter, while not exactly filed under manipulative, does have a way of getting what she wants.
We don't really do family holidays and there's probably a good reason for that. It's said that all families are dysfunctional in their own way. Our particular bent is a fierce individual independence: we closely covet our own space. So you can understand my hesitation. Even though we might start out with the best intentions - four mature adults having a swinging old time together - how long would it be before the petulant adolescents, over-enthusiastic father and dictatorial mother emerged from behind their masks? But strangely, when your little darlings, now firmly in their 20s and living away from home, deign to call, you jump. And so it came to be.
We needed to consider the expense. It may have felt like we were planning a trip with our best mates but it would definitely be my husband and I footing the bill. And it's not just a round of milkshakes were talking here - that'll be four Martinis, please. So with a heady combination of our good friends unstinting generosity, a last-minute apartment swap in Manhattan and a swanky hotel treat, we managed to avert major bankruptcy before we took off down the runway.
We holed up for the first couple of nights at the Peninsula hotel just off 5th Avenue, a glamorous entry point by anybodys standards. Well, I say we. OK, I felt a tiny bit guilty on our first morning as I floated in the glass-surround rooftop pool watching the city skyline emerge through the dawn as if suspended in an abstract painting, while 23 storeys below the girls snuggled up on our pals' airbed on the Upper West Side.
But we hearted New York. We ate in great restaurants with our friends, rode the subway out to a crumbling but glitteringly beautiful Coney Island and stood in line with the locals as they ordered lashings of lox and bagels at Zabars, the sublime Jewish deli. Shopping was high on the girls' agenda. Their compulsively frequent forays to Abercrombie & Fitch would see them emerge, some hours later, clutching a hair band, or even more impressively, a plain white T-shirt. But perhaps there were other attractions therein of which we were not aware.
Once ensconced in our fabulous condo swap, complete with doorman, pooches in the lobby and a daily intake of cup cakes from the Magnolia bakery, the girls went into full Sex and the City fantasy mode (though as far as I know there was no actual sex).
It was fun, and definitely a more exciting way to celebrate a family birthday. But towards the end of our stay the cracks were beginning to show and we were treading carefully to avoid the inevitable explosion. Then, out of nowhere, came my moment of shame. The younger one announced she was off to meet a friend, also visiting from London, to go clubbing in the East Village.
'Not a chance,' said I. 'Far too dodgy. Impossible. No.'
It was some time later that I recalled myself, three decades before, younger than she, hitchhiking the length of Long Island to see the Grateful Dead at the Fillmore, possibly not returning home for the best part of a week. And that was when the Village was a proper urban frontier, man, not the sophisticated, arty place it is today. But she forgave me. Well she had to, didn't she? Maybe next time she hits New York she'll decide to leave her parents behind. I certainly did.
Romilly, 26, says…
"My sister and I were convinced it would be a long two weeks. As it turned out, although we'd predicted the arguments would start within the first few minutes, they didn't. Not once! I think the key was in the destination. A city like New York with its shopping, galleries, restaurants and bars offers even the most demanding individuals something to smile about, and for once we were willing to compromise and indulge each other.
So despite Dad wanting to traipse around every museum and Mum taking up residence at the Peninsula Spa and despite having to sleep on an airbed, we had the most incredible time with our parents. The best thing about going on holiday en famille? Everything is paid for!"
WAY TO GO
British Airways flies New York JFK from Heathrow. Visit ba.com.
Emma Kennedy talks to Robert Elms on board about her family holidays in her new book The Tent, the Bucket and Me (on selected flights).
