This summer was the first in many years that we had a ‘normal’-length holiday. With Lee being a teacher and me being self-employed, in the past we’ve theoretically had six weeks in the summer to do with what we wanted – which was mostly go on holiday. This year, of course, with Lee now working in a non-teaching job, we found ourselves limited to two weeks like most people – a bit of a shock to the system!

Our love of long holidays first started back when the price of package holidays suddenly increased – or maybe it was just that our youngest turned two and suddenly we had to pay for him. Before that, our holidays had been more frequent than long – we’d have a two-week holiday in the summer, but then we’d probably take a few extra breaks as well, visiting friends and family, hiring a cottage or camping somewhere. But then we found ourselves looking at the cost for four flights as well as a hotel – astronomical. So we started looking at alternative methods of travel. We considered the ferry from Portsmouth to Bilbao, but that was pretty astronomical as well. Then we started thinking about driving… It would be a whopping drive to Spain, but it wouldn’t be so bad if we broke it up – it’s not as if we didn’t have the time. Of course, if we then paid for hotels throughout France to break up our journey, we were still looking at an expensive holiday. That’s when we hit on camping. So that’s what we did – we drove slowly through France for a week, stopping at campsites on the way, we had a week in a hotel in Spain, and then we drove back up through France for another week, camping as we went. A three-week holiday for a fraction of the price of a two-week package. The long holiday was born.

The problem (or not) is that long holidays easily escalate. The following year, we did a similar thing, staying in a different Spanish hotel, but this time we decided to give ourselves a few more days to enjoy the campsites rather than just passing through. The next year, we decided to do away with hotels altogether – we could go on holiday for over four weeks if we didn’t have the expense of a hotel! So we drove around France, camping all over the place, and we still managed to get our sun on the south coast. The year after that, we decided to make the most of the money we had at the time by visiting Australia and Hong Kong. Of course, if you’re going to go all that way, there’s no point in going for a fortnight – you spend half your time on the plane! So, making the most of the luxury of having six weeks off work, we went away for just over five of them, taking the opportunity to travel around Australia and to stop at Hong Kong to break up the journeys. The following year (last year), we were back to budgeting, but we didn’t want to reduce the length of our holiday. So back camping round France we went (with a week in a campsite in Spain), for almost the entire duration of the summer holidays. Going for less time seemed almost incomprehensible – we’d got so used to spending our entire summer away.

Then this year it was all change. We no longer had six weeks – we had two. Of course, we squeezed as much as we could out of it – Lee took a half day on the Friday, leaving as soon as he’d finished work, and we came back on the Sunday evening. Technically, we had two weeks and two days, which you don’t get to do when you book a package, but it was still three weeks shorter than what we were used to. I was concerned – I knew two weeks was logically a perfectly reasonable length for a holiday, and I knew we were lucky to be able to have anything at all, but it was so different, and I worried it would be gone in a flash. I remember halfway through previous holidays thinking I was glad we weren’t only going for a fortnight as I was nowhere near ready to come home. This year, I’d be coming home whether I was ready or not.

So the summer dawned. We managed to get on an earlier ferry than booked, arriving at our overnight hotel in Abbeville early enough to have a wander, play at the park, eat at a restaurant, visit a funfair and watch fireworks before bed. Given that we’d only expected to roll up in time for a late dinner and then bed straight away, we already felt like we’d got an extra day out of our holiday. We moved on to our favourite campsite in Dinan the next day, where we wandered the town, ate a delicious lunch and relaxed around the pool. The following day we moved down to Carnac in the south of Brittany – close enough for us to have time to meet up with friends in Dinan before heading south. We spent a week camping in Carnac before heading east and spending two nights in a lovely (and cheap) campsite near Le Mans. Four more nights in Melun on the outskirts of Paris, including a trip to Fontainebleau, a day in Paris itself and a credit-card-punishing day in Disney, and it was time to head home. But here’s the thing: it didn’t seem short. By the end of the two weeks (and two days), I was ready to come home. Not in a had-enough way (it’s rare that I’ve had enough). Just in an I’ve-had-a-lovely-holiday-but-now-it’s-time-to-come-home kind of a way.

I was surprised. I was dreading the holiday being over too soon, but it actually felt like a nice break. Come to think of it, last year I had been more than ready to come home at the end of over five weeks, but that was mostly down to some unfortunate weather and a few mini-disasters – and I certainly wouldn’t have been ready after two weeks.

I think part of it this year was down to not travelling too much. Last year, we must have stayed in at least ten campsites, but this year it was only four (plus a hotel). We didn’t want to spend precious time in the car, so we made sure we didn’t travel too far this year. We also made sure we stayed at least two nights everywhere (except the first night) – we wanted time to relax and didn’t want to waste time putting up and taking down the tent. We fitted in lots of days out, but also made sure we had time to chill out by the pool or next to the tent – I got through nearly as many books in a fortnight as I normally do over the whole summer!

A huge part of it was also down to the change in our non-holiday lives. When Lee was teaching, he’d spend evenings and weekends working, so we needed every bit of holiday we could get. We cherished those weeks on holiday because it was virtually the only opportunity we got to spend real time together as a family – plus if we weren’t physically away, Lee would have found himself catching up with work, and I’d have been working or doing jobs around the house. Now, life is different. We spend weekends together. We spend evenings together. Even though the holiday was only two weeks, we knew there were only five work days before we got to have a weekend off together again – it’s a whole different world.

Largely, though, I think it was down to expectations. If you expect to be away for five weeks, of course you wouldn’t be ready if you had to come home after only two. You plan your time and your mindset depending on how long you’ve got. I never feel disappointed when it’s time to come home after a weekend break – I might think it would be nice to come back another time, but I only ever expect to be away for the weekend. In this case, I knew we only had two weeks, and we planned accordingly. It was long enough. It was fine. I now feel confident I can cope with normal-length holidays!

Of course, the one downside of our shorter holiday is that we didn’t have time to travel very far south. And while I know that south isn’t a guarantee of good weather (last year’s week in Spain saw rain every day and highs of 22), it kind of helps. We were pretty lucky with the weather this year given that we didn’t get further south than Brittany – only one afternoon of rain! – but we didn’t really have the baking hot, lie-on-the-beach kind of weather that makes you feel like you’ve had a proper summer holiday. So next year we’re thinking of hiring mobile homes in campsites, rather than putting up the tent, to give us time to travel just a little bit further south. Plus it helps to know I’ll get my hot-weather fix in Tenerife in less than four weeks’ time. Holiday-obssessed, moi?!

• Tent (obviously);
• Gazebo – this is perfect for shelter from the rain or the sun while cooking, eating or when the kids have gone to bed and we don’t want to sit inside the tent;
• Mallet and spare tent pegs (you’ll be surprised at how many you lose or get bent);
• Gaffer tape and pliers – useful for lots of things;
• Sleeping bags (Lee and I actually took duvets pre-kids but they take up lots of space, so sleeping bags are more practical!);
• Camping pillows – these are little padded pillows (not inflatable ones) that roll up in a small bag, and they’re as close to luxury as we get, but having tried no pillows and rolled up towels, they make a surprising amount of difference for a good night’s sleep; 
• Air beds – again, this has been trial and error. Lee and I slept on sun lounger cushions pre-kids(!) but they take up even more space than duvets. We’ve tried the mats that other people swear by but found them too hard. We’ve never liked the look of camp beds (probably imagining them collapsing in the early hours). When they’re not deflating (which sadly is a common problem), air beds are actually pretty comfy, plus they take up very little space;
• Fold-up chairs;
• Fold-up picnic table and benches* (just big enough for us all to sit at and it ensures the seats are the right height for the table);
• A two-ring gas stove – you need at least two rings for easy cooking, although an extra stove would allow you to boil water for a cup of tea while you’re cooking;
• Coolbag;
• Saucepans, plastic plates and cutlery, etc. – it’s good to have enough plates and cutlery to get through breakfast and dinner without needing to do more than one trip to the sinks for washing up;
• Lots of torches – you need a couple of bright torches to light up outside or inside the tent in the evenings, plus the boys have one each and we usually have at least one more for trips to the toilet or wherever. Spare batteries are also an essential;
• Washing-up bowl, liquid, sponges and tea-towel;
• Washing line and pegs;
• Toilet roll (not always supplied by campsites, especially in France);
• Black sacks and plastic bags – perfect for dirty clothes, rubbish, wet stuff, etc. (you really can’t have too many);
• Antibacterial handwash – don’t expect to find soap in the toilets;
• Antibacterial wipes (just because).

Things we don’t take:

• A mini fridge – we tried this once – it took up lots of space in the car and then when we arrived it didn’t work. If the weather is hot, it would be a handy thing to have, but we’ve camped in Spain and the South of France without one and survived. A bit of clever planning with your food avoids needing one (see below), and a lot of campsites or resorts hire them out, leaving you more space in your car;
• A camping carpet – sure, this probably makes your tent feel luxurious, but given the amount of mud, grass and water you end up tramping into the tent, I’m not sure it’s worth it. We make sure no shoes or dirty/wet clothes get into the sleeping compartments, but the main area of the tent ends up dirty whatever you do. We’ve also seen incidents where people’s camping carpets have got wet and flooded the tent… ;
• Camping cupboards/shelves – I’ve seen all sorts of clever organisers for camping on sale, but if you’re travelling around they’re simply not worth it. Unpacking everything onto shelves just to pack them again a day or two later is time wasted – plus most tents have a few built-in pockets where you can put essentials;
• Portable toilet – hey, if we had the space,it would be great, but the boys are old enough to take the night-time trip to the toilet now!

Thing we take but can live without;

• Electrical hook-up – most campsites charge for this, so we usually don’t bother, as the only thing we really use it for is charging phones/tablets/DVD players. If you want to do luxury camping and use lots of electrical equipment – particularly if you’re staying in one place – then it’s great, but it’s really not an essential.

After saying last year that we rarely return to the same holiday destination, this year seems to be a year for doing exactly that. We’ll be returning to the Bitacora (Spring Hotel Bitacora, Tenerife) for the third(!) time in October. Our (substantially shorter) camping trip this summer sees us returning to two old-favourite campsites (one for the fourth time – maybe we’re more creatures of habit than I think!) and to a new campsite in an old-favourite destination. We’re even considering fitting in a visit to Disney for the sixth(!) time. And earlier this month we returned to another favourite holiday destination – although this time it was at least new to the rest of my family.

The first time I visited Wroxham was as part of an unforgettable hen weekend (What happens on the hen-weekend…) last year. The weekend was a huge success, due largely to the fabulous group of women that attended and the impeccable organisational skills of Hen’s Sister, but also due in no small part to the destination, the accommodation and the (boating) activity. We stayed in Waterside, part of the Boathouse accommodation offered by Barnes Brinkcraft, in Wroxham on the Norfolk Broads. The apartment sleeps eight, with four bedrooms downstairs – two twin, two double and all en-suite – and the living area upstairs, and it also comes with free use of a dayboat in all but the summer months. We spent daytimes cruising the Broads on the boat, with stops for the all-important pub lunches, and evenings chilling out together in the apartment (when we weren’t doing karaoke in Norwich with the infamous Graham). It was the perfect choice for a hen weekend – and all kudos to Hen’s Sister, as it was something I’d never thought of doing before. But in the back of my head, I kept thinking what a perfect family holiday it would make too. This is the curse of the parent – you spend half your life dreaming of an adult holiday away from the kids and then, when you get it, you keep thinking about them and how much they’d be enjoying it if they were there. Luckily I wasn’t the only one feeling this way – one friend (to whom I guess I will have to continue to refer as Little Miss Clumsy – or perhaps LMC for short) was thinking along similar lines, and so it was that we found ourselves going on a joint family holiday to the Norfolk Broads and back to Waterside.

It wasn’t the first time we’d holidayed together. We met up in Spain a few years back, after independently booking holidays in the same area, and three years ago we spent Easter at Butlins together. That was a very successful holiday and we had a great time – apart from the weather. It was so cold that it snowed – yes, in April. Perhaps we should have taken it as a sign, because the weather was the only thing that dampened our holiday in Norfolk – quite literally. This was the beginning of June – it should have been dry, sunny and warm. Or, given this is England after all, it should at least have been mostly dry, sometimes sunny and not cold. We couldn’t even manage that. We had torrential rain on our journey up (enough to create a ford-sized puddle across one of the roads) and the rest of the time the weather was drizzly, grey and cold. Given that I hadn’t even been needing a jacket in the month before we went, I wasn’t expecting to suddenly need a winter coat. But my light waterproof jacket wasn’t sufficient, and neither were the spring-appropriate clothes I’d packed. In fact, by the end of the holiday I’d had to pop to good old Roys to purchase some socks, new shoes and a jumper (and I kind of wished I’d bought gloves and a hat too…).

Weather aside, we actually had a great time. The children kept each other entertained while at the apartment, at the pub (ahem) and on the boat, meaning far fewer ‘Are we there yet?’ and ‘He just hit me’ refrains. We brought a multitude of games and the evenings (once the kids were in bed) were spent playing Taboo, Balderdash and Cards Against Humanity (if you haven’t played this, look it up – it was hysterical, if not very [okay, not at all] politically correct!). I would definitely recommend a joint holiday if the people you go with have broadly similar views to you on things like discipline, bedtimes (the children’s!) and the things you like doing. Family holidays are usually spent catering for, and dealing with, the children, often leaving you feeling like you haven’t had a holiday at all, but this holiday didn’t feel like it was all about the kids. They probably enjoyed it more because they had friends to bounce off, while the adults actually managed some grown-up conversation and didn’t have to spend their time separating the kids. On top of this, it also meant we had two men to berth and unberth (I’m well aware that this isn’t a real word) the boat whenever we stopped (not that LMC and I just sat there like princesses, ahem).

Of course, given that I’m infamous among those who know me for having holiday disasters, and given LMC’s propensity to be, well, clumsy – not to mention the fact that this attribute has been passed down to LMC’s children – you wouldn’t expect a joint holiday to pass without incident. To be fair, such incidents were actually few and far between. No one fell overboard. To the best of my memory, LMC didn’t fall over, drop anything or break anything. LMC’s daughter (LMC2?) did fall over once outside a church in Norwich, giving her knee a resounding crack and reminding me of that awful age where you suddenly realise you’re too old to cry, even though it REALLY hurts. My Dylan was actually the clumsiest of all, managing to step off the boardwalk at the nature reserve, resulting in a rather wet foot, and managing to fall in a water feature at the crazy golf, resulting in a change of clothes. He also managed to get himself lost in Norwich city centre for ten minutes, nearly giving the adults a heart attack. There was also a minor ‘incident’ with a swan, which clearly had no intention of letting us off the boat. But the main holiday ‘disaster’ was the boat breaking down. Yup, it had to happen.

We first took the boat out the evening we arrived, thinking we’d do a quick test run. It took about ten minutes to start and then promptly kept stalling, leaving us floating around the boatyard while we kept trying to get it started again. We finally managed to get it to start – and stay – running properly, and took the boat for an hour-long trip along the Broad and back. We figured the earlier problems were down to it needing to warm up. It stalled again when we tried to berth it back at the apartment, but we put this down to user-error. It struggled to start again the next morning, but we assumed again that the engine was cold. It started quicker this time at least, and off we set, with the intention of arriving at the Swan Inn in Horning for lunch. It stalled several times on the way, whenever we slowed down, and we started to think maybe there really was a problem. As we finally neared the pub, we had to slow down again to let some other boats past before we could moor. This was boat-suicide. We stalled again – and this time we couldn’t get the boat started. We tried really hard to drift towards the pub, but it didn’t work. We spent approximately twenty minutes drifting around, getting in people’s way, before we were finally close enough to land to be able to jump out and safely moor the boat. Unfortunately, this was on the other side of the river to the pub – on an island, in fact – and in a private mooring. Still, it was better than floating around helplessly. We phoned Barnes Brinkcraft to ask for a rescue. ‘I’ll drive down,’ said the engineer. ‘Can’t you get to the other side?’ How we wished we could. Being stranded at a pub didn’t sound like a bad situation to be in. Being stranded on an island was not so good, especially when we were all hungry and needed the loo. The situation was made worse by the owner of the private mooring turning up. ‘Excuse me, you do realise this is private?’ she said, looking none too pleased. We tried to explain the situation but she didn’t look very happy with our answer. Luckily at this point, the engineer arrived, having waved at us from the other side of the water and then cadged a lift from some Broads superhero with a motorboat; like Boatman and Robin, they pulled up next to us and the private-moorings lady left us alone. The engineer explained there was water in the fuel, perhaps after the previous day’s torrential rain, and he proceeded to drain it as best he could. After a while, he started the boat again – it sounded much healthier – and steered us over to the pub, where he returned to his car and we went for a much-needed late lunch. We were a little wary of getting back in the boat afterwards, but it started like a dream. ‘Shall we stop at the nature trail on the way back?’ we wondered. Five minutes later, the boat stalled.

We did at least get it started again easily this time. We carried on, thinking the nature trail might not be such a good idea. Half-an-hour later, we stalled again, and this time it took ten minutes to get it restarted . All thoughts of nature trails were abandoned – all we wanted to do by this point was get back to Wroxham asap, so we didn’t end up spending the night on the boat. We got back without further incident, thank goodness. While we were getting out of the boat, Lee noticed a small silver lid on the roof of the boat – it was the fuel cap. No wonder we had water in the fuel tank… Luckily we had arrived back before the BB office closed, and they sent an engineer round early the next morning to fully drain the tank. We had no more problems after that, thank goodness, although every time we started the boat we were on tenterhooks. The moral of this is that actually the boats normally work very well, without any problems, so if you do experience any, ask for advice straightaway, rather than putting it down to a cold engine or bad handling!

So, for those interested in a holiday to Wroxham, what is there to do? Well, obviously, the boat makes up the majority of the entertainment. It was good fun going out on the boat (when we weren’t stalling), and would have been even nicer if the weather had been better. (Luckily there is at least a canopy you can use, so you don’t get wet if it rains.) The kids had great fun taking it in turns to steer (under supervision!), and there is plenty of room to move about or even play travel games – although the boat can only take eight, it could probably seat twelve or more. And of course, the views are beautiful, especially if you travel north-west towards Coltishall, a particularly unspoilt stretch of the Broads. We had been planning to travel a lot further, but we only made it as far as The Rising Sun at Coltishall in one direction (the ‘end of the line’, to be fair) and the Swan Inn in Horning in the other. We did eventually make it to Hoveton Great Broad nature trail, where we spent a pleasant forty minutes wandering around the trail, and we also stopped at Salhouse Broad for a picnic, a wander and some outdoor games. On  the last day of our holiday, having checked out of the apartment and said goodbye to the boat, we headed off to Wroxham Barns for some (vital) fudge-purchasing and a (slightly wet) game of crazy golf, before spending a couple of hours in Norwich – a beautiful historic city, which is now on my weekend-break list.

Wroxham itself is the perfect base for a holiday. On a grey day it can feel a little industrial, due to all the boatyards, but on a sunny day it has the feel of a seaside town (without the sea). It’s a good size, with a multitude of shops – most owned by Roy, of course – and plenty of food options if you want a takeaway: Thai (which I’d recommend), Indian, fish and chips, pizza, kebab and, of course, McDonalds. There are two pubs in the town, the Kings Head and Hotel Wroxham. We only visited the Kings Head – once for lunch, once for dinner and once for a pub quiz, which I’m pleased to say we won, paying for half our pub dinner the next night! (For reference, the quiz is held every Thursday, starts at 7pm and is family-friendly).

As for Waterside and Barnes Brinkcraft, I really can’t recommend them highly enough. The apartment was a perfect size for two families. With four en-suite shower rooms and a further bathroom (with bath) upstairs, there was no queue for the shower in the morning. There was plenty of space both on and around the sofas in the living area, and the dining table could seat up to ten. The kitchen was well-equipped with a dishwasher (although I’d recommend bringing a slow cooker if you’re planning to cook – you can put the dinner on before you go out in the morning and it’s ready when you come home!), there was a large TV in the lounge plus one in each bedroom, and there was also a CD player, a washing machine and various games and books. There’s also a little balcony around the outside – sadly, we didn’t have the weather to be able to take advantage of this. You can see a little tour of the apartment below, taken during my first stay at Waterside – apologies for the unmade bed and the towels in the shower! The apartment is already well-equipped, with towels, sheets and toiletries included (you’ll need to top up the toilet rolls, though!), as well as washing-up liquid, tea-towels and a little welcome bag with tea, coffee, milk and sugar. Even better, though, if you are a returning guest, you get a loyalty hamper – it really is a very impressive hamper, with sausages, eggs, bacon, bread, olives, cheese, chocolate brownies and much more, and it provided us with a delicious cooked breakfast one morning! Another advantage of being a returning customer is that you get a discount on your booking. And although the stay isn’t cheap, it’s actually pretty good value, especially when you bear in mind that the dayboat is usually included in the price. A little tip – it’s the same price to stay in Waterside for three nights over the weekend as it is to stay four nights in the week, so if you can afford the time off work, you get more for your money if you go in the week!

So if you fancy a break on the Broads, with lots of laughs and relaxation, in comfy accommodation and with plenty to do, you won’t go wrong if you book Waterside. (But if you fancy good weather to boot, I wouldn’t recommend bringing me with you – I don’t have the best track record in that respect.)

The Monument to the Great Fire of London

St Paul’s Cathedral

Inside the British Museum

Imitating art

Imitating art

Helmet from Sutton Hoo burial

Shield from Sutton Hoo burial

Great Fire of London exhibit

Dylan being a 17th century fireman

Tracey Emin’s Unmade Bed

Rather grey view from our hotel room – spot The Shard!

We stayed here for a night in February and were very pleased. The check-in was straightforward and friendly. The room was a reasonable size, with a comfy bed and pillows. We stayed as a family, so the sofa bed was made up into a double for the children – not quite so comfy but good enough! There was a flat-screen TV with all the usual Freeview channels (and a little welcome message!) and tea/coffee-making facilities. The bathroom was clean with a large walk-in shower rather than a bath. We couldn’t fault breakfast at all – a hot and cold buffet with a large selection including pancakes (always a winner!). It is a little on the outskirts of London but just a couple of minutes walk from North Acton station, which is only 15 minutes from Oxford Circus on the central line. There is also a Tesco Express, a Subway and a couple of other places between the station and the hotel, which is handy. And the hotel’s still close enough to central London to get some good views from the higher floors! I’ve bumped my rating up to 5/5 because of the bargain price we paid – just £63 including breakfast, and the children stayed and ate free. You’d struggle to get a better deal than that in London!

Before I start, I need to make it clear that my children are rarely sick. Neither am I and nor is my husband. Honestly. I can understand why anyone reading my blog or who has heard my holiday tales might assume otherwise. It would make sense to wonder why we even bother going on holiday when we’re sick so often. It would be logical to conclude that we’re the sickliest family in existence. But we’re not. We’re really not. It just seems that way because whenever we are sick we just happen to be on holiday. Yeah, yeah, I know, the chances of that happening are directly proportional to the amount of time we actually spend on holiday. But the statistics don’t add up – honestly. Without a doubt, there have been more vomiting incidences on holiday than at home – and, contrary to popular belief, we don’t actually spend half our lives on holiday (or even a quarter). I promise. So why does it always happen to us?!

There was the time at the airport hotel just before a ten-hour flight to Jamaica, when Dylan decided to start throwing up (see Those without a strong stomach, look away now). And there was the time both kids got rotavirus shortly before our holiday to Lanzarote, and Finn was still throwing up as we left for the airport. There was the time when Finn had tummy troubles of a different kind at the airport, just after we’d checked in our luggage (definitely one for another blog). And there have been numerous times when Finn has thrown up in the car due to travel sickness (but only when it’s least convenient and we haven’t had time to get a sick bag ready). There was the time when Lee was sick in Tenerife, just before our taxi arrived to take us back to the airport. And the time we both got E.coli in Corfu – Lee was sick on a coach trip and I was sick on the coach back to the airport. Then I was sick in Prague, due to a cough, and on a mini-cruise from Cyprus to Egypt, presumably due to sea sickness. Not to mention more times than I can count in Majorca and Florida, but that was morning sickness, so I’ll let those slide. There are probably several other examples that I can’t remember offhand, but you get the point.

So you might wonder why we bother going away at all. After our recent break, I’m beginning to wonder too. It was only one night. One night. A night I was looking forward to – it was my birthday present, we hadn’t been away since October, and our holidays will be shorter and less frequent from now on, so every night counts. We’d spent the day in London. To be honest, it hadn’t been the most relaxing of days – the boys had been alternately hyper and whingy. We’d decided to go to TGI Friday’s for dinner and had a 50-minute wait for a table. We’d all had big dinners and big puddings and we’d got back to the hotel feeling rather full. We’d read the boys stories, put them to bed in the double sofa bed and retreated to the bathroom. We had briefly debated the logistics of having a drink in the hotel bar, but it was already quite late and we were both tired. We’d decided in the end on our usual game of cards in the bathroom – just long enough to give us a bit of time to ourselves and to give the boys time to get to sleep before we turned in ourselves. We’d pulled the chair and a little table into the bathroom and there we sat, me on the toilet (lid down, of course) and Lee on the chair, playing cribbage while we listened to the boys whispering, giggling and generally not going to sleep. Eventually, all went quiet. We finished our game and decided it was probably safe to creep in and go to bed ourselves. And then, all of a sudden, the door opened. There stood Finn, looking not unlike something from a horror film. At first, I thought he was sleep-walking, as he didn’t respond when we asked him what what he was doing. I did, at least, have the sense to get off the toilet and start to move away, assuming that was what he’d come for. Then he spoke. ‘I think I’m going to be…’ He didn’t finish his sentence, preferring a dramatic interpretation instead. I wasn’t quick enough. Stupidly, I assumed that was it. I moved the table but didn’t lift the toilet lid. He was sick again. Everywhere.

At this point, I should mention that Dylan has become quite phobic about vomit – the very thought of anyone being sick is enough to send him into a panic. All the noise had woken him, of course, and he sat there in bed crying and whimpering. ‘Has Finn been sick? Where is it? Is there lots of it? Is he going to be sick again?’ Meanwhile, we’re all standing in the bathroom, Finn, the floor, the chair and the table all covered in vomit, Lee and I standing there dumbstruck and unable to do anything. Eventually, we come to our senses and start to move – although this is easier said that done, due to the huge puddle of sick on the floor that we need to manoeuvre around. ‘Do you think they’ll have any cleaning staff here?’ I ask. ‘I doubt it,’ says Lee. ‘It’s nearly midnight.’ I know that we’ll at least need a mop or some rags and realise I’m going to have to go to reception. I look at the chair and table in the middle of the bathroom and I know it looks weird. So I move them out of the bathroom and start cleaning them with wet toilet roll while Lee attempts to move Finn towards the shower and Dylan continues to cry. I throw my jumper dress back on and clump down to reception in my boots, looking ridiculous and having forgotten that the bar is still open and there are people to see me. The man at reception looks quite frankly terrified when I tell him my son has been sick everywhere, and eventually comes back with some towels, a couple of rags and an apologetic look. I arrive back in the room to Lee attempting to hose Finn down in the shower, Finn screaming because the shower is too hot, and Dylan still crying and saying that he doesn’t want to sleep in the same bed as Finn. We finally clean Finn up, calm Dylan down and settle them both to sleep in separate beds, before setting to work cleaning up a bathroom full of vomit with a few towels. Luckily, due to the limitations of carrying all our overnight stuff around London with us, we hadn’t brought pyjamas, so we didn’t have to worry about hosing them down and carrying them with us the next day. Not so luckily, the bra and socks I’d thrown on the bathroom floor hadn’t got off quite so lightly, and I only had spare socks. Nice…

Once we were cleaned up, we had a decision to make – which bed? The comfy bed next to Finn, who might throw up all over you at any time? Or the not-so-comfy sofa bed with Dylan, who wasn’t so likely to throw up over you (although there were no guarantees)? I chose Dylan. Probably the worst decision of the weekend (other than the decision to take the children in the first place). Lying in bed next to Dylan, my husband over the other side of the room, I remembered the looks on people’s faces when I mentioned we were having a short break in London. ‘Oooh, just you and Lee?’ ‘No, the kids as well.’ ‘Oh… that’ll be… um… nice?’ A night in a hotel bed with my six-year-old son, the scent of vomit wafting in the air, was not exactly what I had planned. But it got worse. Dylan snores. Not gentle snores like you might expect from a little boy, but the sort of loud, rattling snores you’d expect from an overweight buffalo. This was bad enough. It’s not easy to sleep on a hard hotel sofa bed with one pillow, in a strange room when you’re overtired, with the worry that you might all have stomach bugs, and your son snoring loudly next to your head. Unfortunately, Dylan is also fidgety. I’ve noticed this when I check on him at night, but I’d always assumed it was just because I disturbed him when I opened the door. Finn has also complained about it before, but I’d assumed it was just Finn being moany. It wasn’t. Dylan is the most fidgety child I have ever encountered. He didn’t go more than two minutes without rolling over, arms and legs flailing. I got punched in the face, kicked in the back and kneed in the stomach. Repeatedly. The upshot of this was that I didn’t sleep. At all. I didn’t get one wink of sleep, let alone forty. As I lay there at six in the morning, room dark, squashed into a quarter of the bed with Dylan’s arm across my face, having named all fifty American states, boys’ and girls’ names beginning with each letter of the alphabet and started on countries, I felt thoroughly miserable. This break had been a stupid idea.

The next day was hard work. The kids were awake at 7am, wanting the curtains open and not giving a monkeys about my lack of sleep. I felt a little more human after a shower and a nice breakfast and, determined not to let the previous night spoil the break completely, we doggedly visited the Museum of London and the Tate Britain, trying to let the kids’ whinges go over our heads. We stopped at Bluewater on the way home for dinner at Cafe Rouge, conscious of not letting Finn eat too much this time. We made the most of our time, because that’s what we do. Despite all our many holiday disasters (lots involving sick, apparently), we’ve never had a bad holiday. It’s just that some are better than others. And this little break wasn’t one of the better ones.

So what did I learn? Firstly, much as I love my children and I love family holidays, some breaks just weren’t designed with them in mind. In particular, one-night breaks to London where every second counts. I can’t help thinking what a nice weekend it would have been if I could have browsed the museums without ‘Have we finished yet?’, ‘When are we leaving?’ and ‘Is it lunchtime?’ in my ear every second, and if I could have slept eight hours in a comfy bed with my husband, rather than no hours on a sofa bed with Mr Fidget. Secondly, given our history, I really should be more prepared. I always have a couple of sick bags in my handbag already. But maybe I should start carrying around plastic bags, wet wipes, a change of clothes for all the family and a bucket. And maybe a swaddle or a straitjacket for Dylan, just in case, God forbid, I ever have to sleep in the same bed as him again. Shudder.

So here we are: the first school holidays since hubby took his new job (bar Christmas, but that doesn’t count as we never go away for Christmas – see Christmas (no) holidays). I’ve already mentally adjusted myself to the lack of holiday time since he started the job – as I said in my last blog (what’s really important), the regular quality time together more than makes up for it. However, what I’m still struggling to adjust to is the accompanying lack of holiday money. Sadly, it seems we are yet to find that elusive job that pays you a fortune and lets you have a life. Or even a job that pays a reasonable living wage to live that elusive life with. It seems that having evenings and weekends free goes hand in hand with not really having any money to spend on them.

It wouldn’t be a problem if it was summer. Days out in summer are generally free – the park, the beach, a country walk. Eating out is easy – let’s go for a picnic. Even holidays can be cheap, as we’ve proved countless times with our camping extravaganzas. Winter is different. The beach doesn’t really have that same appeal – but soft-play, swimming, bowling and the cinema all cost money. A country walk is doable if the weather isn’t too awful, but it’s not the same without a nice pub lunch to warm up. Picnics don’t really work unless you like spending ten minutes trying to open a packet of crisps with numb fingers. And the only holidays that really appeal involve spending thousands to jump on a plane and head somewhere warm.

So here I am faced with half-term on my own, with two children, no husband and not a lot of spare cash. Not a new situation for most people, I’m sure, but a shock to the system for me. A quick look at those handy Facebook memories shows me I was in Newcastle visiting my sister this time last year, and the year before that, I was in Jamaica. Best not to dwell on that. My first answer is to invite some of the children’s friends round – the children get free, weather-independent entertainment and I get time to get some work done (another advantage/disadvantage of not being on holiday) – everybody’s happy. But, the thing is, it’s my birthday this week. I haven’t been on holiday since October. That’s a long time for me. I’m feeling deprived.

So I say to my husband: ‘Instead of a present for my birthday, what I’d really like is a holiday!’

Of course, we both know that’s not going to happen. But I am happy to settle for a night away. He books a precious day off work and we debate where to go. For just one night, there’s no point in going more than an hour or two away. Where can we go that’s nearby and will give us cheap/free daytime entertainment? The answer is obvious: London. It’s an hour’s drive away. It has tons of free museums. Job done. Of course, staying in London isn’t so cheap. However, you’d be surprised – I was! – at how cheap you actually can get it. With a bit of research, I managed to find a Holiday Inn (London West) for £54 for the night for four of us, with an extra £9 for breakfast (again, for all four of us!). It’s not central, but it’s only a couple of minutes’ walk to a tube station and then just fifteen minutes into the centre.

I am disproportionately excited. It’s just a cheap night in London. But the last few years have made me reassess what’s important and appreciate what I’ve got. Everything’s relative, and a night away with my family is still exciting. Okay, it’s not Jamaica or Australia or even five weeks in a tent in France, but it’s still time together. And, regardless of anything else, I do like to get away, so it’s still a mini-holiday somewhere else. Despite the limiting weather, despite the limited time and despite the limited budget, I know we’ll have a great time. I have no intention whatsoever of giving up on holidays – I’ll just become the budget break blogger!

So I’ve left this one a little late. ‘Late’ is being kind, as it’s now around 18 months since we actually visited the Colonial Club. It’s so late that the only way to leave a Trip Advisor Review is to lie and say we visited in August 2015 (as opposed to, ahem, 2014). Of course, lying aside, it’s been so long that I can’t really remember it very well, so it wouldn’t be a very accurate review – or, perhaps, a fair one, as who knows what might have changed in the last year and a half. Anyway, for anyone considering this hotel or looking for accommodation in Cairns, I’ll try to help.

We first visited this hotel over ten years ago, on the recommendation of my mother-in-law. The recommendation came mainly because of the beautiful tropical grounds, and I can see why. The hotel has several swimming pools, landscaped to look like natural waterholes, and the grounds are filled with tropical vegetation and an abundance of wildlife (listening to kookaburras and spotting the odd bandicoot may be yawnsome for the natives, but it’s pretty exciting for a Brit who’s used to pigeons and worms). Unfortunately, when we visited (both times), it was winter. Back in 2004, this wasn’t a problem. Winter in Queensland is like summer in Britain, with temperatures usually in the late twenties. That said, the pools were pretty shady and actually very cold, so our admiration stayed aesthetic. In 2014, however, it was a different story – the temperature was around nineteen degrees and it was rainy. The pools didn’t even look inviting, let alone feel it. It was a big disappointment, as the grounds were one of the reasons we chose to come back to this hotel – visions of lying by the pool with a book, watching the children frolicking in the water, quickly evaporated. The pictures are of the grounds back in 2004 – the picture below those, taken on a boat trip from Cairns, demonstrates why I didn’t bother taking any picture of the grounds in 2014…

Pool at Colonial Club Resort

The restaurant can be seen to the right

The restaurant is on the left and a pool on the right

Near Cairns, August 2014 – lovely weather!

We didn’t actually spend a whole lot of time at the Colonial Club on our most recent visit – we were only there two nights. I can remember that the staff at reception were very friendly and helpful, the food in the restaurant was delicious the night we ate there, and it’s a bit of a maze trying to find your room.

As for the rooms, they’ve certainly improved a bit since we were there in 2004. Whilst we loved the hotel itself and the grounds on our first visit, the room was more Hi-de-Hi than hotel. It was clean and comfortable, but definitely more functional than luxurious.

Room at Cairns Colonial Club in 2004

When we booked for 2014, the only option that allowed us to have our children in the room was a studio apartment. It wasn’t huge but it did have a separate bedroom for the adults, allowing the children to sleep on sofa beds in the lounge (it would be quite spacious if there were only two of you). There were also basic cooking facilities, which we didn’t make use of (other than the fridge), and a TV in both rooms – bonus. As I can’t remember much more about it, I’ll let my video (below) do the talking. Overall, I would recommend the Colonial Club Resort for a stay in Cairns. The hotel is a little outside the centre but it is a short drive or cheap taxi ride away. The setting is lovely if you have the time and weather to enjoy it, and it was actually very reasonably priced (which was a welcome change from 2004!).

Check out my YouTube channel (Holiday Obsessive) for more hotel tours, in Australia and elsewhere.

So it’s all change in the Holiday Obsessive house. Hubby has got a new job. No longer is he a stressed-out teacher, working all the hours of the day but with amazingly long holidays. He has joined the realms of the normal world, with a quite respectable six weeks holiday a year. What am I to do?

He first mooted the idea of giving up teaching nearly two years ago. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, schools are a very stressful environment to work in, especially at the moment, and for him to leave that situation could only be a good thing. On the other hand, the idea of losing all those holidays was almost too much to bear.

On an average year, you see, we’d spend eight or nine weeks on holiday – and I don’t mean off work, I mean actually on holiday. They wouldn’t all be expensive or exotic – some would be downright cheap – but the point is we’d be away from home. We’d have a week in the sun in October half-term – there’s something lovely about going somewhere hot when the weather in England is getting colder and the nights are getting longer. We’d have up to a week in February half-term – possibly visiting friends and family. We’d have up to a week again in May half-term – Butlins has been a previous May destination. And we’d have a week or more at Easter, maybe in a cottage somewhere, perhaps in France. The killer, of course, has always been the summer holidays. Over the last few years, we’ve taken up to five weeks to really explore France and Spain (or Australia the year before last). It sounds extravagant – and I guess it is – but when you’re camping, as we usually are, you can spend five weeks on holiday for less than the price of a week’s package holiday. The beauty of spending such a long time away is the variety – you get to see so many different places and stay at so many different sites. It can be an adventure holiday, sightseeing trip, beach holiday and city break all in one.

The idea of giving all this up, particularly our long summer break, was not exactly appealing. At first we looked at self-employment options. After all, I’m self-employed and work from home – if I want to take a week or five off work, I can. I don’t get paid, however, and that’s the crux of it. No income from either of us for five weeks is not really feasible. And so it came to be that, in December, my husband started a normal job. Nine to five, Monday to Friday, six weeks holiday a year. And the really funny thing is I don’t mind.

It made me wonder why I’m so holiday-obsessed, and one thing became clear. It’s not just about the sun – although this has huge appeal. It’s not just about seeing new places and trying new things, although this is something I really love and my bucket list is pretty huge. It’s not just about relaxing somewhere and letting other people cook for us – although this is an added bonus. The thing I like best about holidays, sickly but true, is spending quality time with my husband and children away from the stresses of everyday life.

This is why I’m okay with our new reduced holiday allowance. Quality family time on holiday was always so important because we just didn’t get it the rest of the time. Anyone who has worked as or lived with a teacher will know how huge the workload is. Evenings were spent marking, planning and doing paperwork. Weekends were spent marking, planning and doing paperwork. Those bits of the weekend that weren’t spent working were marred by the very idea of it lurking in the background. Sure, we would go out together as a family at the weekend sometimes, but my husband would be crotchety because he knew it was time he ‘should’ have been spending working. I remember one lovely Saturday. We had gone to the cinema for the kids’ morning matinee, followed by lunch in a restaurant and a wander around the local museum. As we strolled back to the car, and I mused how nice it had been to spend the day together, I noticed my husband was quiet. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me the day had been a waste of time because he hadn’t got any work done. That’s life with a teacher.

If we spent school holidays at home, work would inevitably creep in. There would be a small amount of catching up on household jobs and then it would be more school work. When he wasn’t working, he would be stressing about it. Going away on holiday, however, changed things. Away from home, away from the books and the computer, my husband couldn’t do any work. The first couple of days of any holiday would always be a little uncomfortable. He would get itchy feet while he adjusted to not being able to do any work. And then it would change. He would relax. We could spend days together as a family, happy, laughing, enjoying life. Sure, the kids would drive us mad and holidays aren’t without their own stresses, but it’s a whole different world to the stresses of being at home.

So this is why I’m okay with having fewer and shorter holidays. I’ll miss seeing so many new places, I’ll miss eating hotel food, I’ll miss the tremendous variety that a five-week holiday allows. (I wont miss our October sun – that holiday is sacrosanct and we won’t be giving it up!) But I won’t miss the family time because we now have it every weekend. No longer are evenings and weekends for work – now they’re for chilling out in front of the TV or a film, going for walks, playing board games and eating pub lunches. Now they’re for going to the cinema and wandering round a museum without feeling like we’re wasting time. This time together is priceless, particularly while our children are so young. I never thought I’d say it, holiday obsessive that I am, but this regular time together is worth a thousand holidays.

Plus, free weekends equals lots of mini-break opportunities, right?!

Once upon a time, we booked a two-week package holiday to Pineda on the Costa Brava. It was back in the days when you could still get free child places, and for some reason this particular hotel, the Golden Taurus, was cheaper than anywhere else. It turned out to be a good choice – friendly staff, nice food, good positioning on the seafront and a great kids’ club. The following year, with package prices seemingly doubled and no sign of the mythical free child’s place, we decided to go camping in France. We’d already won ferry tickets, so all we had to pay for was diesel and campsite pitches. With three weeks to use as we wished, we thought it would be nice to tour, aiming to get down to the south of France as we’d done once before (pre-children) – that way we could make the most of the weather and maybe still manage a day or two on the beach. Then we hit on a brilliant idea – if we were going to get as far as the south coast, why didn’t we just go that little bit further and hit Spain? Even better, we could book a hotel in Spain and still enjoy a bit of luxury during our holiday!

We didn’t even bother to look for different hotels in the north of Spain – it seemed like a no-brainer to book the Golden Taurus again. We’d never previously booked a ‘resort’-type hotel independently, and we weren’t quite sure how it worked, but at least this one was tried and tested. We knew we’d get a big-enough room, we knew the food was good and we knew they had plenty of kids’ facilities. Most importantly, it wasn’t far from France, we knew how to get there and it had plenty of free parking. Our time in Spain went very smoothly – we found the hotel without any problems (obviously), our room was actually bigger than during our previous stay (a benefit of booking direct, perhaps?) and the boys were even allowed to join the Thomson’s kids’ club, despite not having booked with the company. Even better, the whole three-week holiday, including diesel and campsite fees, cost a fraction of what a week in the same hotel would have cost via a package deal.

Apart from the occasional night here or there, that’s the only time we’ve been to the same hotel twice. We tend to prefer to try new destinations rather than go back to places we’ve already been. It’s not that we don’t like the hotels we stay in and would rather not return – after all, I normally do enough research to ensure we’re going somewhere we’ll enjoy. We just like the variety, and it’s always nice exploring a new hotel in a new resort. But still, there was something really comforting about returning to the Golden Taurus. We didn’t have to waste time looking around the hotel to see where everything was. We knew exactly where to go for breakfast, where to find the kids’ club and where the toilets were. We knew how the restaurant arrangements worked (always a minefield) and what time the mini-disco started. We knew where the hotel was in relation to the beach, the town, the train station. We recognised lots of the staff, and some of them seemed to recognise us. After the long drive from France, there was something really nice about rocking up at a familiar hotel – like seeing an old friend for the first time in ages, or getting changed into your favourite PJs after a long day.

And so it is that this year we’re going to do it again. Not the Golden Taurus (although I did previously look into the logistics of staying there again this summer) but to the Bitacora in Tenerife. We first went there last October, through a package deal again (see my previous review, Spring Hotel Bitacora, Tenerife). As usual, I did my research before booking and scrolled through Trip Advisor. The overwhelming pattern was that everybody seemed to be repeat customers – ‘This was my fifth time at the Bitacora’, ‘We come here every year’, etc. I found it a bit sad, to be honest – with so many places to see and so little time, why waste that time by going to the same place over and over again? But I took comfort in the fact that it was good enough for people to come back, and didn’t hesitate to book it.

But as our week progressed, the idea of coming back became more and more appealing. The hotel itself was fairly faultless – the rooms were large and clean, the food was good, and there were plenty of facilities. The location was also great – close enough to plenty of shops and bars, a short walk from the sea and in an area that has clearly had a lot spent on it in recent years. Funnily enough, I hadn’t realised at the time of booking that it was actually directly opposite a hotel we’d stayed at in Tenerife previously. We may well have booked that hotel again if it had been available, as we had really liked both the hotel and the location, but it was nice when we arrived at the Bitacora to find that we already knew where we were and what was around us. The weather was also amazing. We regularly go away in October, usually to mainland Spain or the Balearics, and the weather varies from pleasant to fairly hot to downright cold and rainy. We were particularly lucky during our week in Tenerife, though, and it was in the thirties every day. We were easily able to swim in the pool and the sea, something we wouldn’t normally do on holiday in October (although Lee has been known to go in the sea on principle). The resort was also busy – not uncomfortably crowded but with plenty of life. Resorts are usually closing in October – we tend to find only a few of the shops and restaurants are open, and there’s the feel of a ghost town – so it was a pleasant surprise to be somewhere that was still ‘in season’. But the thing that really clinched it for us was the staff. The animation team in particular were the best I have ever seen at a hotel – they quickly knew our sons by name and would make sure they stopped to chat when they saw us around the hotel. The boys loved going to the kids’ club and soon made lots of friends, most of whom asked if the boys would be coming back next year, because they were. On our last day, waiting for the coach pick-up, the boys asked for the umpteenth time if we could come back next year. Two of the animation team had just stopped to say goodbye, and the hotel was busy preparing and decorating, ready for Halloween. It suddenly seemed stupid to say no just for the sake of it – why shouldn’t we come back next year? We’d had a lovely time, the boys had had a lovely time – it seemed like an obvious decision. Although we usually like to pack lots in during our holidays, it’s also nice sometimes just to relax, especially after our manic five-week camping trip in the summer. Going somewhere you’ve been before takes the pressure off visiting lots of places, as you’ve done them all already. There’s no guilt in spending the days lying by the pool, as you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything and you know the kids are having a whale of a time. Add the almost-guaranteed good weather, the comfy rooms, the delicious food and the friendly staff and it really was a no-brainer.

Once at home, I was scrolling through the hotel’s Facebook and I saw a video of the Halloween entrance to the restaurant. So much effort had been put it into it (see it for yourself at the bottom of the page!), and I realised I was missing the Bitacora already. It wasn’t long before I’d booked up to go again this October (this time direct and not through a package, saving at least £1,000…), ensuring we’d be there for Halloween this year! Funnily enough, a friend booked to go to the same hotel this summer, without having realised I’d been there too. She was keen for reassurance that the area (and the hotel) was okay, and of course I waxed lyrical about how much I’d enjoyed it. Then I panicked – had I oversold it? What if she didn’t like it? Nothing worse than recommending somewhere only to find out you clearly have weird taste. I needn’t have worried – not only did she have a lovely time but she also intended to book to go again the following year! Not just me, then!

Anyway, this time next week, I will be getting ready for dinner in the familiar Bitacora restaurant, having spent the day by the pool or on the beach. The kids will have been to the kids’ club and seen their old friends from last year, and I will be looking forward to a drink and a game of cards on the balcony, looking out at the familiar view. It may not be new and exciting, but sometimes you just can’t beat the same old, same old. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!