We love be a real

We’ve always liked family holidays, and we usually go to Cornwall or North Wales where my dad grew up. The memories you build up as an extended family last a lifetime. For me they include preventing our kamikaze seven-year-old getting swept out to sea, watching Zulu in the local flea-pit cinema on a wet Saturday or, terrifyingly, taking our children, aged seven and five at the time, on the hideously steep route up Mount Tryfan in Snowdonia when one slip could have been fatal. If you’ve been there, you’ll know what I mean. When the children were little my parents often took them to the beach, giving us the chance to play golf or read in peace.

John loves yachting and 20 years ago he organised a brilliant sailing holiday in the Virgin Islands for his twins, their partners and our children. We lived on board and rowed to get supplies, like a cross between Treasure Island and Swallows and Amazons. We still talk about it. And our son Roly organised a wonderful family trip to Beaumaris on Anglesey. It was just like old times as my dad used to love taking the family climbing in Snowdonia or sailing in the Menai Strait. We even scattered his ashes off Bangor Pier six years ago.

This time we visited favourite haunts like Penmon Point and Benllech Bay, discovered a spooky ruined mansion called Baron Hill and had a speedboat ride.

When John’s twins and family join us in Cornwall, our kids love playing with their nephews, nicknamed “the scrumptiouses”. There’s non-stop cricket on the beach, surfing and building sand castles.

Having the little boys around gives everyone the perfect excuse to return to their own childhood and it’s why we love holidaying with several generations.