Flapping About in Brochures

I'm Flapping about in brochures
hopping from foot to foot really
choosing a holiday ought to be fun
a pleasant task full of warm rich
beach imaginings
and melon fans draped in coulis
before meat in jus
followed by millefeuille
and piano by candlelight

But my choices are imperfect
too expensive or too remote
husband wants a 5 star hotel
for the price of a hostel

I am not going to get a cottage
and cook with blunt knives and no spices
or live on pizza
and listen to child whine
about being bored

I am not going to shoehorn us all
into a tiny highrise cave
a hide from vicious sun
while people with sunburned tats
scream at their kids

My husband still thinks he is 17

I'm left with
two hotels
of middling reputation
I know something will disappoint