A summer holiday for the whole street? Count me out

The award for most uplifting story of the week must surely go to the good people of Coronation Avenue in Haverfordwest, who like each other so much that they decided to go on holiday together. Yes, 49 of them packed their bags for a week at the Mar Amantis hotel in Ibiza. “It was great fun… the only problem some of us had was sunburn and the occasional hangover,” said Paul John, the organiser. “We live on Coronation Avenue but we are similar to Coronation Street in a way – we’ve certainly got a few characters.”

I couldn’t help thinking that if our street in London went on holiday together, such community spirit would be rather lacking…

Thursday: arrive at airport with cat (as the neighbours are coming, there’s no one to feed her). Someone snarls something about her weeing on their rhododendrons. Am disappointed to discover that the couple across the road have brought their baby with them. I was hoping for a holiday from its incessant crying. Strange woman comes over to say hello. Apparently, she lives in the flat two floors above me, but I’ve never seen her before.

Friday: when we got to the hotel last night, the family at No 10 complained that their room was smaller than the one allocated to the family at No 12, “which is just what we need after they got planning permission to build that monstrous extension that blocks out all the light in our garden”. Rumours abound that they got to the pool at 6am to bag the best sunloungers as payback. Hotel complaining that the cat has been spotted weeing on the palm trees.

Saturday: long lunch today. Started well, but someone mentioned “building down” and soon several people were arguing over who had the best basement conversion. This led to a fight about the dreadful noise No 17’s builders made, and by the way, could they stop putting their rubbish in No 19’s wheelie bin. Woman from flat two floors above me spent the evening droning on and on about what colour we should paint the shared hall. After a jug of sangria, we agreed on Jasmine White.

Sunday: didn’t get to sleep until about 5am, as the teenagers at No 15 have been put in the room next to me and the cat. They were up all night playing 50 Cent really loudly. This reminds me of the time their parents went away, half of Facebook descended for a party, and we found a teenage boy passed out in the bushes the next morning. I tell them to be quiet. “Bit rich coming from the woman who wails along to Beyoncé until the early hours,” they say.

“That’s the lady who lives two floors above me,” I mumble.

I can’t wait to get home and not speak to any of them again.

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God bless America, land of the free and home of “Chick Beer” – a lager that comes in a pink, polka-dotted bottle, as part of a six-pack designed to look like a handbag. Clearly, women are scared by big, manly pints.

The website tells us that Chick Beer has “low carbs and just 97 calories. The taste leans toward the smoothness of malt over the dry bitterness of hops. It’s the taste that women prefer.” As an ale drinker, I must presume it’s also the taste of being hopelessly patronised.

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The world of clothes is in chaos, after a normal woman appeared on the front cover of Vogue. The singer Adele is the face of this month’s issue, though unfortunately they have chosen to show only her head (in none of the pictures do we see her whole body).

“I’ve seen people who want to be thinner or have bigger boobs,” she says. “I don’t want that in my life.”

In the next paragraph, the writer sees fit to point out that Adele is “terribly pretty in the flesh… though sporting a few spots”. One step at a time, I suppose.