I usually do several long rambling posts about our summer holiday. But in Northumberland apparently no-one has any internet connection and frankly the weather was so cold I couldn't hold a pen. For this reason, and the fact that it's now nearly a month later and I'm trying to catch up, I'll do a summary.
Day minus one: Car breaks so we have to hire another one. Which means I spend all week panicking about scraping it on bushes and the amount of sand in the footwells.
Day One: Beamish. Flipping brilliant - highly recommended. Children now obsessed with writing with quill and ink.
Day Two: Walk to Dunstanburgh Castle. This was so windy the kids had to wear snoods in August. It was an upbeat day although exhausting.
Day Three: Alnwick Castle which involved flying broomsticks where Harry Potter did. Not that they are allowed to have anyone dressed as Harry Potter, which seems bonkers to me. Basically a great day if a bit blustery.
Day Four: Obligatory mum meltdown when my careful planning was scuppered by weather. There was no chance of going on a boat because it was too damn choppy. In retrospect I always lose it a bit on day four. We ended up geocaching and failing to find any treasure but finished up in the pub so not all bad. We gave in and lit the fire in the cottage because it was chuffing freezing.
Day Five: Yay for Lindisfarne! We had the most fantastic day all over the island. It's our new favourite place.
Day Six: Lots of rain so we visited yet another castle - Bamburgh - which was good and full of slightly unusual exhibits and staff. One was convinced it was full of ghosts. And I mean really convinced. We ended up eating posh picnic on the beach and having a great afternoon.
Day Seven: Finally got on a boat and the sun shone. Seals, lighthouse and fish and chips. Thank goodness for that.
Day Eight: Drove home via a farm shop (thank the lord for bacon sandwiches) and an overpriced farm with llamas.
As usual we had a pretty amazing week and Northumberland could now be our favourite coastline in the UK. It is so stunning with castles peppered all the way along and sandy quiet beaches. It was flipping cold though. But we will be back.
Showing posts with label family holiday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family holiday. Show all posts
Tuesday, 23 September 2014
Monday, 28 April 2014
Ibiza - Day One
We are definitely getting braver with our holidays. Finally we are getting out and visiting places in the world that normal people have already been to...twice probably. (Although there is plenty to say that a holiday to South Wales in a Yurt is probably a similar level of bravery). Anyway we booked Ibiza.
Just to make life as hard as possible for us I booked to go in April before the season starts, requiring a bit of planning and a lot of driving on the other side of the road. Ah well if we could cope with this we could do anything. Which is apparently the same I said about Amsterdam. And probably the Yurt. We really are the travelling kind.
Inevitably we spent the first half an hour in the airport wrecking my perfectly packed suitcase by decanting a sizeable amount of clothes into every piece of hand luggage we could find. Other than that and having to throw two perfectly good water bottles in the bin because I forgot to empty the flipping things and it all went smoothly. Although Phoebe flashing shoes did rather upset the security scanner.
The plane went up and then came down again in the right place without any ear related agony. And the sun was shining. I started to think things were going a bit too well.
We had booked a hire car at home using one of those irritating compare sites and got a ludicrously cheap deal. On arrival we realised why. Firstly we could't pick the car up at the actual airport - that would have been too convenient. We had to wait for a minibus.
My guidebook said in Spain people don't queue. We, of course, do - so queued behind a British couple in a semi patient fashion. The minibus arrived and the boot was opened just as a Spanish couple shot out of nowhere wielding suitcases. I rejected my Britishness and threw the suitcase in first like a woman possessed. I'm not sure the Mediterranean is good for me.
We were taken to a dusty car park and brick shed and queued for far too long. I wasn't keen on the Spanish negotiation that followed (well not so much negotiation as me signing a piece of paper and hoping for the best) but they lent me a car so that was the first goal achieved. I set off out of the car park and swore a few times. I initially thought it was terrifying. Although not as terrifying as the thought of scratching the paintwork. The kids were the quietest I have ever known them. I can't imagine why.
After about twenty minutes, most of which I can't remember in the slightest, we arrived at our apartment in Cala Llonga.
The view was beautiful. The pool was lovely. The bar was open, as was the Spar to buy croissants and biscuits. We swam, unpacked, ate at the only open restaurant in the complex and were shown a tortoise. Our holiday had begun.
Just to make life as hard as possible for us I booked to go in April before the season starts, requiring a bit of planning and a lot of driving on the other side of the road. Ah well if we could cope with this we could do anything. Which is apparently the same I said about Amsterdam. And probably the Yurt. We really are the travelling kind.
Inevitably we spent the first half an hour in the airport wrecking my perfectly packed suitcase by decanting a sizeable amount of clothes into every piece of hand luggage we could find. Other than that and having to throw two perfectly good water bottles in the bin because I forgot to empty the flipping things and it all went smoothly. Although Phoebe flashing shoes did rather upset the security scanner.
The plane went up and then came down again in the right place without any ear related agony. And the sun was shining. I started to think things were going a bit too well.
We had booked a hire car at home using one of those irritating compare sites and got a ludicrously cheap deal. On arrival we realised why. Firstly we could't pick the car up at the actual airport - that would have been too convenient. We had to wait for a minibus.
My guidebook said in Spain people don't queue. We, of course, do - so queued behind a British couple in a semi patient fashion. The minibus arrived and the boot was opened just as a Spanish couple shot out of nowhere wielding suitcases. I rejected my Britishness and threw the suitcase in first like a woman possessed. I'm not sure the Mediterranean is good for me.
We were taken to a dusty car park and brick shed and queued for far too long. I wasn't keen on the Spanish negotiation that followed (well not so much negotiation as me signing a piece of paper and hoping for the best) but they lent me a car so that was the first goal achieved. I set off out of the car park and swore a few times. I initially thought it was terrifying. Although not as terrifying as the thought of scratching the paintwork. The kids were the quietest I have ever known them. I can't imagine why.
After about twenty minutes, most of which I can't remember in the slightest, we arrived at our apartment in Cala Llonga.
The view was beautiful. The pool was lovely. The bar was open, as was the Spar to buy croissants and biscuits. We swam, unpacked, ate at the only open restaurant in the complex and were shown a tortoise. Our holiday had begun.
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