It's half-term, a week that tended to pass me by when I was a student in Bristol. But since my boyfriend, James, and I moved to Cornwall to do a postgrad course, half-term has become a big event. We both have teachers in our families and, if they don't teach, they have school-age children. We've become a popular holiday destination.
Dad and the family are staying nearby. Apart from a quick guided tour of the beach and our flat (one room and a kitchen), they have had to entertain themselves by day as we don't get a half-term. We take them to local restaurants by night, something I could get used to. As we wave them off my auntie rings; they'll be in the area tomorrow...
We meet my auntie and her family on the beach at lunchtime (this afternoon is "independent study"). As their car pulls up, James's parents call to say they'll be arriving in half an hour. We stretch our legs on the beach, the sun is shining and the view is spectacular. Everyone is impressed. Then we head to town to meet the next tour party. Everyone wants to see our flat - one room and two beanbags with eight people and two dogs? We organise shifts.
Some family friends we haven't seen for several years are on holiday nearby. Mum's passed on my mobile number. It'll be lovely to see them but we can't do Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday next week. I get a call while I'm working at college; they're outside our flat. Is anybody in?
All our guests have left. I'm not complaining as there are definite advantages; the flat has been tidied every day, we haven't been to the supermarket for a week and, of course, it was lovely to see everyone. It'll just be nice to have some peace and quiet. The phone rings. It's Mum; they thought they'd pop down next weekend.
Kate Bindotti is studying creative advertising at Falmouth College of Art