Book me into the mother-in-law’s

A holiday used to be a chance to recharge the batteries, recoup a sense of self alongside drinking and eating yourself into a relaxed oblivion – but the twins have heralded a departure. It’s still technically a holiday but with a heavy emphasis on activity from 6am to 9pm.

For obvious reasons including cost, risk and general hassle, this year we decided against going abroad.

Fortunately, Victoria’s mother said we could stay in her house for the week. Even better, she wouldn’t be there because she was in a rented cottage a hundred miles away.

We had a free four-bedroom home, which was cleaner and roomier than our own, in a popular seaside resort.

When we arrived, the fridge and cupboards were well stocked, with all kinds of foodstuffs, and I even noticed a selection of interesting beers.

My first thought was we’d struggle to get through all of this in a week, but I consoled myself with the fact, we could always load up the car with anything left over and take it home.

Disappointingly, there wasn’t a bowl of fresh fruit, swan-shaped towels or a free mini bar in our room – and there wasn’t a pool just by the patio doors. Although, this meant neither Victoria or I would have to follow the twins everywhere in case they fell in. On our last foreign holiday, the pool was outside the back door, which meant the poor things had to wear giant buoyancy aids for the week resembling mini-Michelin Men in all holiday pictures.

Another benefit of a UK break was driving our own car with already fitted car seats. I still have vague hazy memories of perspiring heavily, trying to fit two unfamiliar child seats in the 40°C heat of a pitch-black Spanish car park, while rental cars driven by confused tourists careered past.

And since we were in our own car on British roads, the day didn’t start with Victoria screaming ‘WE’RE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD’, every morning as a Spaniard in a van accelerated towards us.

We could also tour friends and relatives’ houses picking up cakes and being offered a variety of delicious meals, crucially saving money under the guise of seeing people.

Better still, I didn’t even panic when Thomas crashed into me, sending the coffee I was holding flying across the room before it came to rest on the living room sofa. We hadn’t left a deposit and we weren’t going to be charged over a visible stain.

With all that in mind, could the UK mini-break in a relative’s empty house be our future holiday blueprint even when the world’s open for business?