By the time my holiday journal is printed, my duty-free Turkish Delight will have gone mouldy in the back of my kitchen cupboard.

Saturday
Excited. Then panic sets in.
Turkey= Five hours on a plane. Help! Where’s my Alan Carr? ‘Easy Way to Enjoy Flying’. A literal godsend, albeit printed pre 9/11.

Arrive at the airport with himself. Watch countless take-offs (desensitization). Record timing of each take-of, (taxi to airborne, 33 seconds). Good, everything is going to clockwork, according to the book.

My sister and her Navan man in the bar. Take another quick glance around to see that nobody is acting suspiciously, or leaving any unfamiliar bibles lying around.

Airborne. My sister is blaming me for transferring my fear of flying on to her. I remind her that she gave my brother a fear of wasps. We let it go.

Arrive in Turkey. Two hour coach ride to apartment. First rule of Turkish thumb– no flushing of loo roll down the toilet, dispose of in bins provided. Stinks. It’s going to take at least a week to get used to this. Too tired to think about that now.

Sunday
Looked out apartment window this morning expecting to see towels cemented to deck chairs. Big surprise! Not one deck chair hijacked in an early morning stampede. Either it’s still the middle of the night, or there’s a lot of Irish staying here. The latter is true.

Spent day conjuring up new ways to jump into the pool. My sister and I agree that (in general) Dubs connect better with water than country folk. Himself had swimming lessons from the age of three. Lake at home was treacherous beyond paddling point. Nearest pool, next county.

Dinner time. Dread. The other three will eat anything put in front of them. Nibs still hasn’t ventured past her meat, two veg and pot of spuds diet. I remind myself that holidays are a time of rest; won’t be shocking the taste buds with new culinary experiences.

“What way do you like your steak madam?”

“Burnt please… (pause) yes I appreciate it’s probably va va voom when it’s still half alive, but I prefer it this way, so lets all try and move on from that.”

Monday
This could be tricky. There are four of us. We’re like chalk, cheese, milk and pepper. All with different interests. We decide to split up and do our own thing.

After our chat with the rep.

“I’d like to go on that trip….”

“So would I…”

“I’ll go on this trip if you go on that one…”

“OK but only if you promise to go on that one…”

“Right!”

“Hold on, I don’t know if I’m really into that.”

“Yes, that’ll be four tickets please.”

Went to market and bought nothing. Constitution could not handle constant badgering. Told one trader I’d buy quicker if he’d stop hounding me. “Please! I just want to look!” I scream. He doesn’t get it.

Have walked into stores at home where it sometimes takes donkeys to find service, then when you do you’re met with a sullen, “If it’s not on the shelf, we don’t have it.”

If it’s not on the shelf in Turkey, these boys whiz off on scooters and return with a friend who has shiploads of what you want! Trust me. Navan man mentioned ‘rugs’ and in a heart beat we found ourselves in some magic carpet shop sipping on a glass of ‘Raki’.

Never seen clouds like that at home. They weren’t clouds. Smoke. Rep warns me I may not get to see the House of the Virgin Mary as it was most likely burning to the ground at this very moment. Forest fires. Where would you get them?

Found a restaurant where they stocked ‘Dairy Gold’ butter in their fridge. Place was packed with Irish people.

Avoid Irish bars at all cost. Turkish bars are much more relaxed and their folk music and dancing is really something.

Tuesday
Water Park. Brilliant.
Sister tells me that the Turkish think Irish people look like big white shiny chicken fillets in the water. Getting tired of slapping on the sun cream every five minutes. Water resistant. Sure it is.

Wednesday
Boat trip around crystal water beaches. I don’t think so. Beaches clogged up with other tour boats so captain anchors our ship in the middle of the ocean. Magnificent circus dives all round, except for the two ‘chicken fillets’ (me and my skin and blister) dangling over the side of the boat shark hunting.

Finally get into the water, freak over floating seaweed, jump back onto the boat, slip, grab nearest person for support (mature Italian woman) who loses it over a small matter of spilt beer.

Would have offered to buy the woman another if she had of accepted my apology and not drew out and whacked me one. Quick exchange of profanities then I grab my ‘Spiderwick Chronicles’ and sit quietly for the rest of the voyage. Peace.

Thursday
7 am. Panaluke (Hot Springs and Calcium Mountains)
Rep said it was three hour bus ride to destination. She conveniently forgot to mention that it takes a further three hours crawling around collecting other resort people. Worth it. Dips in hot thermal springs and big leaps in remote pools.

Speaking of big leaps. Navan man called me ‘sis’ for the first time today. He’s only gone and asked my sister to marry him while me and himself were off ogling statues of Dionysus and Apollo. She said yes. Least that’s one less thing sitting on a Turkish shelf.

Celebration dinner. Bubbly is flowing. Suddenly our table is surrounded by Turkish jewellers and Wedding Dress shop owners. The restaurant staff alerted them about my sister’s engagement and now they were circling us chanting “Good price! Good price!” Was furious. Couldn’t challenge manager. Not my party.

Friday
Miracle. House of the Virgin Mary was the only thing to survive the fire. Oh ye who have little faith.

Visited Ephesus first. Stood on the patch where Cleopatra and Mark Anthony met for the first time. Lovely. Now will someone please be practical and pass me the factor 60? Tour guide is a funny character and keeps us rounded up like frazzled sheep. “Shade to shade,” is all I can hear Navan man muttering from under a tomb stone. Gas thing is, the Turkish people keep mistaking my sister’s fiancé as one of their own. Then he opens his mouth.

Evening. Haman Bath. Strange feeling having someone (other than your mother) scrubbing you down. Childhood memories of ‘four in the bath and the little one yelled’ come flooding back.

Enjoyed the Haman experience until I slipped off the soapy marble slab and kneed the ‘scrubber’ in his Turkish delights by accident. Thank Mohammed I’m going home tomorrow.

Saturday
First time I thought of the return flight all week. They say the more times you do something, the easier it gets. That doesn’t apply to flying. That one awful flight moons ago still haunts me and with each flight, the terror only intensified. Not today, though. Alan Carr kicked my smoking habit. I believe he is finally curing my fear of flying (I mean crashing).

Thought I could help comfort my distraught sister on the flight home. Ended up drawing attention to myself which resulted in me getting a history lesson on aviation from an Air Steward.

Problem was, he was a little enthusiastic and the whole plane decided to listen in. Having children tittering at you through the cracks of their seat is highly pathetic. Seeing me squirm amused my sister and she almost forgot she was 35,000 feet in the air (wine may have helped just a little).

Home. My pillow, my bed. Heaven.

Woke up in the middle of the night in a sweat. “I’m going to be bridesmaid!” One thing more terrifying than flying and sharks– Hen Parties.