Day 47 (and the last day) of the summer holidays: The kids have been piled in and out of the car on six separate occasions today to head to yet another fun filled activity. Each trip undoubtedly ends with “can we go home yet?” as the excitement wears off and they suss that I’ve again stung them with a cheap-skate trip to the beach or park. But isn’t that what summer holidays are about? Filling your days with wholesome, outdoorsy activities that feed your parents’ souls, make for cracking Instagram updates and will, eventually my little cherubs, make for joyous, nostalgic memories.

When I look back on my childhood, it was a much quieter one than my children are being subjected to. I was an only child with a small, close knit family – the kind that were civilised enough to venture on a nine hour, family car journey every summer to visit my aunt and uncle in Scotland, without feeling like all sanity might be lost by the time we hit the M25. It was on one of these mammoth escapades that my tale unfolded…

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