For Trish the holiday is only half the thrill. Unlike Pete who cannot get into a holiday until he’s got to where he’s going, Trish has had weeks of quiet and rising anticipation, imagining the palm trees and the scent of coconut oil and the cold, steely taste of the beer and the richness of the sunsets. Vorfreude, they call it. What a great word. But now they’ve arrived and their resort is way better than Trish ever expected it to be. This has never happened before. There’s crisp white bed linen and a charcoal coloured rug. There are handsome lampshades – nothing too frou-frou, deftly understated, in fact. There’s fancy tea and coffee and decent sized mugs, and real milk – not UHT –  in the fridge. There’s a bath and bath salts scented like coriander and lemongrass, and complimentary kimonos to wear for the duration of your stay. And Trish now realises that this new feeling she’s experiencing, this delight at having found a hotel room that exceeds expectations, deserves its own word. Is she experiencing a feeling of hotelation? she asks Pete, but he’s crashed out on the banana lounge with a James Patterson paperback over his face, and he’s in no position to comment.

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Cannylass

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