Birmingham Post

Unsurprisingly, Spain and its Anglophile islands will be among the most popular destinations. Brummies who are considerably richer than me will be heading to the beaches of Tenerife, eschewing the domestic attractions of Upton-upon-Severn and choosing instead to dip their toes into the chlorine-perfumed waters of their hotel's Californian-style swimming pool.
Justin Fleming, president of the Association of British Travel Agents, explains the phenomenon, saying: "Getting away from it all is now no longer a dream but a reality for most of us in the UK.”
If Mr Fleming thinks jetting off to the sun is a "reality for most of us" he must be relying on different data to the travel agency Travel Counsellors which believes Britons will fork out £2,367 booking their overseas Easter jaunt. Such a sum equates to something nearer £3,000 of pre-tax earnings – and then you need to add on the cost of food, drinks, rounds of golf, aromatherapy massages and glitter swimming thongs.
Where, I ask myself, do people get the money from? There will be a small percentage of super rich holidaymakers for whom money is not a concern, but then they are hardly likely to be slumming it on the Costas with the rest of the plebs. There will also be a slightly bigger, but still statistically small, percentage of senior managers, commercial lawyers and corporate accountants who are not inconvenienced by the loss a few thousand quid.
And the rest of them? Unless there has been a flurry of wins on the lottery, the Premium Bonds or the nags, we have to assume an awful lot of Brits are engaged in desperate equity release schemes or have stuck their holiday on their credit cards. Either way, they are adopting a high risk "paella now, pay later" philosophy.
I have a scary enough long-term debt in the shape of a mortgage, without running up further credit on consumer fripperies. Gutless, you may think. What a bore – and you may have a point.
But given the choice, if I could afford it, would I jet out to the Maldives? Absolutely not.
Easter has got to be one of the finest times to be an Englishman and one of the finest times to be in England. The natural landscape is budding into life, the nights are drawing out, the schools are on holiday – so our street is not clogged – and the essence of spiritual renewal is tangible.
There are lawns that need mowing, fences that need creosoting, TV snooker tournaments that need watching. Now, who in their right mind would trade all this for a soulless sun-baked foreign beach?
Ask any adult about their greatest childhood memories and right up there will be eating chips in the rain looking out from a steamed-up car at a gale-lashed English seaside resort during Easter.
Throw in a Thermos flask, a packet of digestive biscuits, a wet family pet and a set of travel Scrabble and we are approaching the very stuff of dreams.
Surely no caring parent could consider denying their child such formative pleasures. Spain or Dubai just don't come close.