Dude, where's my holiday bubble wrap suit?

I’ve just spent ten nights on a tropical island. I shall call this island Hawaii. 

The place is horrible.  They should write that on signs everywhere in the world. Don’t go there. No-one go there. You’ll hate it. I guess the main point I'm trying to get across is STAY AWAY, IT’S MINE.

I know no-one wants to hear about someone else's summer holiday, so let me summarise:

• I did all the tropical things.
• I did not look at a watch. Mostly. There is a big  vintage clock on the Waikiki Beach strip, like anyone cares what time it is.  Most of the time I didn’t know what day it was.
  

To make you feel better about your non-tropical existence, I also conveniently captured a litany of issues from my travels. I shall call them Hawaii Problems. They are real problems:

• I ran out of my Australian Cadbury chocolate quite early on so I had to eat Hershey's. I can't untaste that.
• The drying of my favourite swimmers could not keep up with my thrice a day swimming schedule.
• The tiles in my hotel room were forever covered in sand. 
• I kept bumping into the same Americans in Waikiki and was compelled to start acknowledging their existence.

• I only know so much Russian and there's always the danger of bumping into an actual Russian-speaking Russian.
• They install some type of magnetic field in your brain when you arrive at Honolulu Airport so when you pass any of the three thousand ABC Stores in Waikiki you are forced to enter because of the electric charge emitting from their extensive souvenir magnet collection. Also, I'm not entirely sure this is how electromagnetism works, but it sounds like something an electromagnetist would say in a Hollywood movie.
• I was forever sunburnt because.... I'm from Australia and we don't really get access to sun so I'm not trained in the ways of the shade...
• The magical Waikiki salt water healed my reef rock wound like a boss in no time at all and I don't have a body of salt water in my street at home to heal all my future reef rock injuries.

So I’ve grown a little tired of talking incessantly about Hawaii this week, particularly given I’m not there anymore. I've returned to the glaciality of my frozen city, the mundanity of my livelihood, and the general unremarkableness of my existence.  Oh, that sentence isn't depressing at all. Hey, I'm a writer. We are depressing.

I'm going to write a comprehensive set of Frequently Asked Questions and hand them out to anyone who requests information on my what-and-whereabouts abroad.
 

See, every time someone asks about it the precious holiday bubble deflates just a little.  And you've got to protect that effervescent little blob that protects you from reality and all the people who want to pop it.  

I know the bubble won't last, but that’s okay, because I will take the soul-sucking fairy who pops it down with me into the chambers of hell. Terms and Conditions apply when you ask about my damn holiday.