Why holidaying abroad is like childbirth

I have had four babies, and it hurt. A lot. But I cannot for the life of me remember what the pain was like. Half-way through the birth of number four, I recall saying to my husband: "When I next get broody, please remind me of this". But I cannot for the life of me remember what it was he was supposed to remind me of; what the pain was like (otherwise presumably I wouldn't have kept on doing it).

The same with holidays. If the holiday is great, I forget the agony of travelling. The early rising, the waiting, the being herded hither and thihter, the being frisked by po-faced officials, the delays, that awful moment when our suitcases don't appear on the carousel, and I wonder whether they are holidaying elseswhere; still sunning themselves while we are back here in the rain. It's horrible. All of it. It's still fresh in my mind (we got back last night).

But no doubt in a couple of days I shall have forgotten all that, and will remember only the sun, the food, the marvellous places we visited. But for the time being, all I can remember is the journey/labour. It still hurts.The equivalent of stitches, I suppose.