Sanchez has been criticised for staying on holiday during the Ceuta crisis. But there is also controversy in England and France over politicians’ holidays

The classic examples are always the same: Giulio Andreotti with the nuns in Cortina, Aldo Moro in his overcoat in Terracina, and other inconveniences that ‘1.0’ politicians were expected to endure to make up for taking a holiday – yet another privilege in a country that was still poor and rural, where MPs and ministers already enjoyed sybaritic luxuries such as running water and electricity. 

Those were the days of films featuring penitent Christian Democrat MPs, immortalised in the legendary Italian comedy films, such as "I complessi" starring Ugo Tognazzi; but today, now that everyone is going on holiday – or pretending to go – politicians are judged even more harshly than before for any perceived missteps. Here are the latest vociferous protests: throughout the Ceuta affair, Spanish Prime Minister Sánchez has come in for heavy criticism for being on holiday in Lanzarote, compounded by the fact that he shared his favourite summer playlists on social media (“la banda sonora de mi verano”).

But even the British Prime Minister – whose name, I believe, is Burnham – it’s now impossible to remember the names of British Prime Ministers; by comparison, Italy has become like Switzerland in terms of boredom and stability – has announced that he will be taking a few days’ holiday, having taken office just two weeks ago. The opposition immediately attacked him, calling it ‘unprofessional behaviour’. We’re in the throes of full-blown ‘Marchionne syndrome’, with its ‘On holiday from what?’, as the Italian-Canadian CEO asked upon arriving at a bankrupt Fiat in August 2004. In the case of the British Prime Minister, there’s the added aggravating factor of an ‘overseas’ holiday – that is, abroad – and besides, where is he supposed to go, to the Shetlands? To the Cotswolds? It’s a mystery. There are also widespread protests in France, this time against the Minister for Ecological Transition, Monique Barbut, who is accused of having travelled to Sainte-Maxime – a charming resort in the Var – in the midst of the wildfire crisis ravaging the country. In all these cases, those under fire have assured us that they are ‘in constant contact’ with their respective offices; in short, they are switching to full ‘smart working’ – to use that lovely term that exists only in Italy. There’s probably no need for these powerful figures to be physically present at the scene of crises and misfortunes; indeed, they might even get in the way. But never mind. The sight of a politician on holiday simply doesn’t go down well with anyone. 

In France, in the weekly magazine Le Point, the French sociologist and holiday expert (!) Jean Viard wonders whether politicians, too, are entitled to holidays and therefore to a bit of lazing about. The obvious answer is yes, of course, but the fact is that everything has changed today – how we work, how we go on holiday, how we eat – yet everyone still expects the ‘Terracina model’. Even so, the past is always magical and misleading: whilst Vannacci claims that 30 years ago (in ’96!) you could leave your front door unlocked, people also tend to think that the leaders of yesteryear were far more virtuous – but the opposite is true. Even in the ’80s and ’90s, says Viard, a month’s holiday was the norm. Today, that has dropped to around ten days. The sociologist specialising in holidays (lucky him – we’ve got it all wrong in life) recounts that De Gaulle spent months at his summer residence in Colombey-les-Deux-Églises, in the Marne, but nobody had any objections. François Mitterrand, too, spent the whole summer at Latche, on the Atlantic coast, where he also hosted dignitaries and intellectuals. But we’re still back to the same old story: the settled holiday, the old-fashioned summer retreat, the one we all long for. The one that does away with travelling and the hassle. Even Queen Elizabeth used to invite hapless prime ministers to her castles, amidst the mud and the culling of game. And the Italian presidents of the Republic, too, have – or rather had – Castelporziano near Rome, where one recalls Camilla Cederna’s accusations against Leone’s sons, who used to hunt wild boar there by helicopter. Today, the place is dedicated to holidays for less fortunate children, and who knows whether, after Mattarella’s time, someone will restore its former holiday use. Another Leone – the Pope – has reclaimed his Castelgandolfo, which Francis had turned into a museum, and has had the tennis court refurbished.  

Because the secret to permanence also lay in providing a fixed setting, a backdrop that never changed, for the holidays of the powerful. Of course, there was security, but there was also a sense of stability: French presidents still have Fort de Brégançon at their disposal, a manor on a small island on the Côte d’Azur, whilst British prime ministers have Chequers in Buckinghamshire; it is also true that almost all of them eventually succumb to ostentation, so they always end up at home or on the yachts of some wealthy individual, which then invites further criticism (Sarkozy at Bolloré’s, Blair at Berlusconi’s whilst in office, but then, as a pensioner, he practically sailed every vessel over twenty metres in port or at anchor across the five continents). It is somewhat striking to picture Sánchez in Lanzarote like any ordinary retiree on a day trip, not even in Bangkok; and who knows where the British Prime Minister will go; and will Minister Barbut have set off with one of those experience gift boxes that relatives give you, choosing between the relaxation package, the tasting package and the spa package? Or with a last-minute booking on Booking.com?

Of course, even staying put has its risks: Putin’s Villa Certosa, the complex designed by the Italian architect Cirillo, complete with harbours and a cinema on the Black Sea, seemed like the safest place in the world, but in recent days a Ukrainian drone has swooped down on a nearby beach. And the image? Perhaps in the end it’s best just to ignore it. They’ll criticise you anyway. When Mattarella stayed at the Navy Officers’ Club in Cortina for the Winter Olympics this year (an extremely spartan and low-key place, originally set up for submariners who needed fresh air after their missions), some people protested: ‘What on earth, a Navy club in the mountains! Shame on you!’ If we consider that Obama was criticised for occasionally playing golf, today we have a Trump who only occasionally leaves the green to board aeroplanes gifted by the Arabs and head to his office, which has since been transformed – with all its gilding – into a Thai restaurant. But it’s even more bizarre when he’s at the White House (and perhaps everyone’s happy about it; the less time he spends there, the less architectural damage he causes). 

Even Berlusconi seemed perfectly at home at Villa Certosa amongst the golf buggies and bandanas (or perhaps it just seems normal to us now, with the benefit of hindsight); but perhaps that’s because he was the first ‘new’ politician – that is, post-Terracina – just like Vannacci, with that famous photo of him in a dressing gown on the shore. Who has ever seen him, a general, not to mention on a tank, but even in military uniform?  He’s in his element in the water, between the shoreline and swimming challenges. Giorgia Meloni, apart from a demure one-piece swimsuit at Santa Marinella, is establishing her own image amongst the trulli of the Itria Valley. But appearances can be deceiving. The ‘new’ politicians – the beach-going sort, that is – are less fortunate than their ‘overcoat-wearing’ counterparts: because they must always be on their guard. In the past, news of misfortunes, wars and uprisings would arrive days or weeks late. Today, everything is instantaneous, and you have to be ready to leave that coveted little beach to rush off and manage a crisis – or rather, to be seen managing a crisis – which, as the aforementioned holidaying sociologist points out, are constant. What’s more, these days a surveyor’s holiday from the 1980s lasts longer than the average politician’s term in office. Whilst Churchill used to spend months on holiday on the Côte d’Azur, nowadays you risk returning after just a month to find yourself in opposition. A parliamentary term lasts less than a Smartbox voucher – oh well.