Easter

The wettest I can remember for a very long time, that's for sure, so making the most of the great outdoors has been something of a challenge.

Not to be bullied into hibernation by the climate, me and mine headed to the North Yorkshire Moors for some dreary sightseeing. 

Are we nearly there yet?

Even Dalby Forest, in all its majesty, could barely summon daylight for us. If we parents were to suffer, then we might as well make sure the kids suffered too, so a 5 mile walk provided the perfect antidote to a fun day out for them.

Even Mister Rabbit set aside his vegetable plot-induced differences with Mr McGregor, as a result of the incessant downpours. And lets' face it, if a rabbit is miserable at Easter, what chance do the rest of us have?

We loved the gardens and the tour of the house at Nunnington Hall (and not ONLY because it was dry inside).

The one and only saving grace for the week was the presence of an indoor swimming pool at our holiday cottage complex. It was just another form of wet, after all, if a little more pleasant.

Whilst the misery of cold, damp and downright spooky forests were less than tempting for the youngsters, they did provide a moody backdrop for some portraits.

The elegant lady below was by far the most happy and well-dressed member of the general public we encountered all week. One must appreciate the attention to detail of Treesa's (not her real name) lipstick, beads and nipple combo. Outstanding.

Happy Easter. I do hope yours was better.

Summer Holibobs

When your appetite for plane fares diminishes, as ours did this year with the prospect of hauling our oversized, expensive brood to the continent once again, go Old School.

The lure of the British seaside was made all the more attractive by the idea that we would be saving thousands of pounds by not 'hiring the sunshine' for a fortnight, and made yet more tolerable with knowing that the kennels bill could also be eluded if we stayed in Blighty. 

Two cars, two dogs, two suitcases, four body boards, one funeral, four kids and seven hours later (the earlier we gloss over the latter items, the better), North Devon was in our sights.

Our locations didn't disappoint. Wetsuits went on quickly (and came off much more slowly), dogs drank sea water (yes, they ARE that dumb), sand got in knickers, the badminton kit stayed firmly in the boot, and the Sponge Bob Square Pants theme tune became a distant memory. Bliss.

And whilst our tans were more due to the burn of the wind than the sun, I could feel my omnipresent tension beginning to subside as the days progressed. Nature had begun to provide her magical therapy and relaxation furtively slipped into our veins like a warm draft of whisky.

The sound of wood on metal brought the idyl to an abrupt end. Let's just say I wasn't driving and leave it at that. Ahem. 

Somehow these British based holibobs always stay more firmly in our memory banks than our more exotic ventures. The fondness with which I hold my own childhood rock-pooling, flip-flop filled days is irreplaceable. Nostalgia rocks.

My family (and other animals) on holiday

The annual tribe-on-tour event has taken place. This year's destination - South Western France.

A mercifully brief (but paradoxically expensive) flight to Toulouse was how it began. Land of sunflowers, mediaeval hilltop towns and above all else, apples. Apples everywhere. Hectare upon hectare of the bloody things. A veritable Scrumper's Paradise and I didn't even pack my cider press. This countryside provided us with a glorious vista from the comfort of our sunbeds, with the grape as our preferred fruit of choice on most evenings. Everyone admired the view.

I love my family holiday. I love my family, of course, and they are 50% of 'family holiday' after all, but the actual 'holiday' part where I get to read a book and not wash up is, without contest, a very close second.

The camera is never far from my side, and since this area of France has more mediaeval bastille towns than one can throw a stick at, it was easy enough to capture the atmosphere as the sun went down and the corks started popping.

I was struck by the sense of community here. A festival of light in Lauzerte required the co-operation of every single village resident to plunge themselves into darkness at dusk. If one stubborn ex-pat had refused to turn off Eastenders or close the fridge door, the whole event would have been a write-off. 

But what of the animals, I hear you cry? Well, our ever-present lifeguard came in canine form. This adorable but highly strung beauty was our constant companion. She was the seeker-out-of-food-scraps-that-she-was-allergic-to and saw her most important role as pool intervention - woe betide the child that attempted to effect a dive or jump in without her consent as she formed a canine shield with her large body between the offender and the pool.

Tradition dictates that no vacation pass by without a visit to the local 'Accrobranche'. Our 6 adrenalin junkies can't get enough of the high ropes harness hell, and this year the added attraction of a nearby close-contact monkey sanctuary proved too much to resist. See? Animals! The hand-feeding of the monkeys, which roamed freely amongst the visitors, was very much encouraged. They will happily take popcorn from you without so much as a by-your-leave, but there was no sign of a Multiplex anywhere.

Lest we forget that homosapiens are animals too, too many late nights will bring us back to earth....