I’d like to talk about my uncle, David, who is a complete homebody when it comes to taking time off. Unlike most people who rush off to the airport the minute their annual leave starts, he firmly believes that the best holiday is spent right inside his own flat.
Whenever he gets a break from his demanding job as an accountant, he has a very distinct routine. He spends most of his days pottering around the garden, tending to his vegetable patch, and catching up on a massive pile of books he never gets around to reading during the working week. He also loves cooking elaborate meals from scratch, often spending hours making slow-cooked stews or baking sourdough bread while listening to jazz on the radio. It is not that he is antisocial, he often invites family round for Sunday lunch, but he simply prefers a quiet, unhurried pace.
He spends virtually every holiday this way, whether it is a long bank holiday weekend or a fortnight in the summer. When I asked him why he rarely travels, he told me that his day-to-day life is already full of tight deadlines, packed commuter trains, and constant noise. For him, navigating crowded airports, dealing with flight delays, and living out of a suitcase feels more like hard work than a genuine rest. He feels that true recuperation comes from familiar comforts, sleeping in his own bed, and having complete control over his schedule without feeling pressured to tick off tourist attractions. I really respect his perspective; it reminds me that you do not necessarily have to cross borders to recharge your batteries.