Tomorrow, me, my husband and our three-year-old will be flying out to Corsica for a week's holiday.

This means we'll be missing the final run-up and the result of the General Election.

We'll get to hear about it, I expect. There will probably be plenty of Brits at our resort with the right kind of modern technology to pick up the news. But what we'll undoubtedly miss out on will be the excitement of going down the polling station, the emotionally-charged TV coverage of seats being lost and won, and the euphoria/disappointment of the next day.

What's more, by the time we come back to the UK, that moment in history will have passed and we won't be able to say we lived through it.

That's one of the inevitable things about holidays. Something is always different about the world when you come back to it. During our fortnight in Spain last year Paula Yates died. We heard about it, but by the time we came home, it was old news. We'd missed the shock headlines, the tributes, the analysis, the "what happens now?" stories. No one was talking about it - except us.

After other holidays I've come home to find something significant has happened - train crash tragedies, politicians ousted, celebrities heading for drug rehab clinics - and felt sad that I didn't experience the mass emotion of the moment. Just think how odd it must have been for those out of the country on the day of Princesss Di's death to come back to a weeping nation.

One of the most moving events I missed was the Live Aid concert in 1985. While I was scorching myself on the sands of a Greek island, it seems everyone else was gripped by the harrowing images of starving children and the supreme showmanship of Freddie Mercury. I've tried watching videos of it, but it's hardly the same. I don't see how you can really catch up on events if you weren't there when they happened.

Of course, one thing that hasn't usually changed when you return from holiday is your own domestic life - unless, that is, you've been burgled or your house has been flattened by a force of nature or squatters have moved in.

With any luck, the cup and plate you hadn't had time to wash before you left for the airport are still there, if a little furry now. The unpaid bills are still on the table. The ironing board is exactly where you left it (set up in the living room). These are all comforting sights.

When you go back to work it should be the same, too. The things that were in your in-tray are still pending. The things you'd shunted to one side are still forgotten.

But your office life may well have moved on. There could be news of a sacking or a scandal or a surprise promotion. Or the door security codes will have been reprogrammed, which you only find out after swearing at the key pad for 15 minutes.

As Harold Wilson might have said, a week is a long time for a holiday.