Ian McMillan: Imagine this, the cheapest and best holiday you'll ever have

In the distance I'll be able to see the Eiffel Tower rather than Emley mast, and the birds will be singing in French accents not broad

Barnsley Tyke.

I've been looking forward to this little break for weeks, and the other day, as I was musing on what jacket to take, I suddenly realised that, for me, the anticipation of going on holiday is almost as good as the holiday itself. Sometimes, and perhaps I should whisper this, it can be better.

When I was little, the buying of the shorts, the arrival of the AA map through the post, the collecting of the new canister of gas for the little picnic stove, all built up the excitement like the putting up and decorating of the tree turns up the anticipatory Christmas heat.

In the last few days before the holiday I was beside myself with a kind of jittery nervousness, and perhaps within that shaky feeling was an unspoken acknowledgment that, as far as holidays go, it might always be better to travel hopefully rather than arrive.

So in a sense it didn't matter that the shorts split and the AA map was missing a page so we got lost on the outskirts of Carlisle, and the gas ran out with a little "pffff" just before the moment of boiling,

because I'd had so much fun building up to the trip.

I remember once we were on a caravan site somewhere in North Wales and we were supposed to go home on the Friday but then my dad said that he'd managed to negotiate with the permanently-vest-wearing proprietor of the site for us to stay on over the weekend.

It meant that we'd have to move to another caravan, but the owner assured us it was "lovely, lovely". Funny how things ring in your memory after many decades: I can vividly recall his vest and the fact that he kept saying "lovely, lovely".

I was amazingly excited at the idea of staying on, of not going home, of having an unexpected weekend in a lovely, lovely caravan.

We loaded up the old Zephyr 6 and drove round the back of the site to the new accommodation. My excitement built like a wave. This was almost as good as waiting for the post-lady to bring the AA map.

We trundled down a muddy path and there, in front of us, was the lovely, lovely caravan. Except it wasn't lovely, lovely. It was little, little. It was, in fact, tiny, tiny. And rusty, rusty.

The man in the vest was waiting for us. He was a big bloke, almost as big as the caravan, and he squeezed in to show us around. It was like a group of students forcing themselves into a phone box for a Rag Week stunt.

The vested man pulled something on the wall and a bed big enough for Barbie or Ken (but not Barbie and Ken together) creaked into view.

My mother was shaking her head. My brother's head was scraping the ceiling. My dad tried to sit on a chair and he looked like an awkward politician doing a photo-opportunity in an infant school.

We decided not to stay and we reluctantly set off for home. My dad drove in silence for a while, and then he said: "Well, there wouldn't have been room for me to take my hat off," which made my brother laugh.

I was crying though, because I had foreseen a marvellous weekend in the lovely, lovely caravan.

We'd have somehow been like pioneers or people on some kind of expedition, and it would have been exciting to all have to turn over at once when we were in bed because there wasn't enough room to do it individually.

The reality would have been terrible, of course, but the anticipation was electric.

On the way home, we stopped in a rain-soaked village and in the little newsagent my dad bought me a toy magnet to cheer me up. It didn't, although secretly I was pleased because I hadn't got a magnet.

So, maybe Paris won't be living up to its promise; maybe the weather will be bad and the waiters will be grumpy and the croissants will be floppy and the cheese will the consistency of breeze blocks.

It doesn't matter, though, because in my imagination I'm lifting a forkful of something magnificent to my mouth and the water of the River Seine is sparkling in the sun.

Maybe the anticipation of the holiday is always going to be the best holiday you ever had. It's certainly cheaper.

Imaginary Holidays Ltd: now there's an internet start-up to beat the bad times.