Before dinner we meet in the bar. My father is wearing a jacket despite the heat and my mother is wearing heels. My brother comes down in swimming trunks and my mother sends him back upstairs to change. My father orders a Manhattan and my mother and I drank gin and tonics. When my brother comes down again he orders a pina colada. We get drunk and dizzy under the fans.

Once we are drunk we go to the card room. It is difficult to find, through a hidden door off the lobby. Baize-topped tables and low armchairs and a blue carpet which smells of cigars. My brother tries to teach our parents to play bridge but their hearts aren’t in it. You can only play a game if everyone cares about winning.

After cards we go to the lobby and my father orders a taxi.

Where do you recommend?

By now it is dark and long past dinner time.

We’re on holiday.

The taxi twists up improbably steep roads. My mother holds onto the headrest in front of her. My father sits in the front, talking to the driver. I respect the driver for indulging him. I have never been able to speak to taxi drivers.