ENDLESS SUMMER

WHEN REFLECTING ON LIFE’S MOST MEMORABLE MOMENTS, IT’S OFTEN THOSE THAT OCCURRED DURING THE SUN-SOAKED MONTHS THAT LINGER THE LONGEST IN OUR MINDS. WE ASKED JOOLS OLIVER TO SHARE HERS…

Jools Oliver shares her best holiday memories

the light evenings and heady months of summer seem saturated with events that stick like Polaroids in our minds: the tearing open of a manila envelope concealing long-awaited exam results; the sweetness of that first summer love, all sweaty palms and stolen kisses. Even less-significant summers are filled with evocative snapshots – the joy of a 99 Flake, chocolate nibbled first while ice cream rolls in rivulets down a limp cone and tanned wrist, or a paddling pool optimistically inflated as May turns to June. Life, then, is not measured in Prufrockian coffee spoons, but in summers. One woman who knows all about this is Jools Oliver, childrenswear designer, wife to Jamie and mother to their five children [Poppy, 17; Daisy, 16; Petal, nine; Buddy, eight; River, two]. She says that while some of the holidays she remembers most fondly were set in sunnier climes – a girls’ trip to Mallorca, her honeymoon in Italy – just as many were quintessentially British, with rock pooling and soggy wetsuits as standard. Here, she reflects on her happiest summers, and explains why, after a tumultuous few months [in May, Jamie announced the closure of 22 of his UK restaurants], this one couldn’t come sooner.

Childhood

‘Every year, my family would go to Biarritz for a week, where it never seemed warm! Zipping ourselves into rainbow-hued cagoules, we couldn’t have looked more like tourists if we’d tried. In any case, the real summer holiday came weeks later, when we’d decamp from our home in Essex to Wimbledon, where Mum’s friend had a family home. While she headed to Corsica, Mum, Dad, my two elder sisters and I would stay there for a fortnight.

Holidaying in London might sound odd, but this house, which, to me, seemed almost dreamlike in its vastness and hide-and-seek potential, had a pool, and my middle sister, Lisa, and I would stay up playing with Sindy dolls that belonged to the family’s daughter. During our Wimbledon holidays, Lisa became something akin to my nanny. She’d make hot chocolate in the morning, sneaking vanilla ice cream from the freezer and dropping a buttery scoop into our steaming mugs with an unceremonious “plop”! We’d sip it until 8am, when we were allowed to go swimming. If my mum had known of our ice-cream breakfasts, she might have been irked, but the tacit understanding that your parents care a little less about usual rules is one of the great things about childhood holidays.

When Mum and Dad weren’t at the tennis, they’d take us window shopping at Harrods. One year, when I was eight, I met Darth Vader there. He was my first crush, and my heart fizzed with excitement when I heard the unmistakable murmurs of his ominous breath. As I turned, he stepped on my foot, leaving a black smudge. To Mum’s disdain, I refused to wash it for a week, lest I remove my beloved print.

Teens

When I was 16, my mum took the three of us girls to Mallorca. My dad was ill and stayed at home with a carer [Jools’s father, Maurice, suffered a stroke when she was nine and died after another stroke when she was 22], so the trip was a break for Mum. I remember her returning to our holiday let from the supermercado on the first day, and star-jumping, fully clothed, into the turquoise pool. My sisters and I were stunned, but the rare image of her being so carefree is etched in my memory.

It was a week of no worry. Mum navigated everything on her own, and seeing her so empowered was a big deal. But mostly, I was absorbed in my Walkman that I carried on a cord around my neck and played Kylie Minogue’s eponymous first album on repeat. We spent our days pottering on the beach, and mealtimes eating pesto pasta, cooking on the barbecue and nibbling on Manchego and oily jamón. One night, we went out and danced like no one was watching.

If that holiday was a break for Mum, for me, it was a becoming summer. I went away geeky and returned cool, mostly thanks to a pair of cowboy boots I’d begged Mum to buy for me. I walked into sixth form, legs tanned, hair curly, and came of age in a matter of seconds. I’d absorbed the confidence of my elder sisters, and the boy I fancied suddenly seemed to notice me – it was my Sandy from Grease moment! Even though my A levels loomed and my dad was ill, I felt good. I was, in some ways, blissfully unaware, like teens are at times. Growing up felt easy. When difficult things happen at home, my children often have no idea, and I prefer it that way.

Twenties

The defining summer of my 20s was when I married Jamie in June 2000, aged 25. All I wanted was children and to get stuck into home life; I was quite true to myself in that way.

Mum, Jamie’s mum and I planned a classic English wedding, with the reception in a marquee in Jamie’s parents’ garden. My highlight was the dancing. I didn’t drink, but you’d have thought I was off my face! Our first dance was to Dusty Springfield’s I Only Want To Be With You, but Jamie doesn’t like dancing, so I threw him off, then started swinging around the marquee poles and throwing my legs in the air! He was like, “Er, hello?!” but I was in my element! We boogied until 3am.

We had a three-week honeymoon in Italy. Obviously, Jamie loves the food, so we went to Sicily and Tuscany, before ending in Positano. We spent long, sweltering days seeking out quiet beaches, making it our mission to find the most idyllic, undiscovered coves. We shopped for fresh vegetables in outdoor markets and went on day trips to Florence and Rome. Our favourite place, Positano, was gorgeous (and free of photo-taking tourists). We’d amble down winding lanes, buy wine and olives and spend evenings on our balcony, talking

‘The defining summer of my 20s was when I married Jamie’

for hours and gazing out at the Spiaggia Grande. Jamie’s career had just taken off, so all we wanted to do was relax.

Next year, we’ll have been married 20 years, and we’re going to get married again, but do things differently – outside and barefoot. Our wedding was formal, but we’re so not like that. It’ll be a big party. Why the hell not? I think we’ve done well!

Thirties

On our first holiday with the children, to Ibiza, Poppy got ill, and we couldn’t find a doctor, which put us off going abroad again, plus I find flying stressful. Eight years ago, we started going to Cornwall as a family, and that was when the best holidays began. The first time we went, Poppy was nine, Daisy, eight, and I was pregnant with Buddy. Petal, then one, stayed at home with my mum.

It was the best week and, from then on, we vowed to return to Cornwall every year, no matter what.

We bundled the kids into the car in their pyjamas and arrived at 11pm. They started surfing on that first holiday, after we heard of a great local teacher called George. He turned up, told us we’d start lessons the following morning and that was that. I watched from the shore, while the girls and Jamie fell in love with the euphoria of catching the perfect wave.

Knowing Petal was safe at home with Mum,

I was able to chill. I remember sitting in the garden and being overcome with that unique sense of contentment. Jamie and I would feed and bathe the kids, then let them play in the garden, while we ate outdoors. We’d tell them to go to bed; “Yeah, sure, whatever!” they’d reply, like they could sense the rules were malleable on holiday, just as I had done when I was young! I’m normally quite strict about bedtimes, so the girls loved it as 9pm came and went, the sun not yet dipping behind the horizon. We were so giddy with happiness that we knew we had to return.

Forties

We’ve holidayed in Cornwall every year since. We always stay on the north coast, we always surf with George, and now we have friends there, it’s more sociable than ever.

One year, we took a helicopter, but Buddy kept lunging for the door (never again!), so this year we’ll drive. We hit the beach every day at 7am, when it’s deserted. Corralling teenagers at 6am is hard, and they’re always reluctant to squeeze into their wetsuits, still sodden from the day before.

I joke to the older girls that they’ll pull boys if they surf – they don’t realise how cool it is! Last year, Jamie took Buddy out fishing and when they returned, Buds was grinning and proudly proffering his largest fish. Cornwall is one of the only places Jamie really relaxes. He’ll do the odd bit of work, but because he doesn’t see the kids much, he likes to hang out with them as much as possible. He’ll do all the mad stuff I won’t, such as jumping off rocks into the sea! We go to the same farmer’s shop to buy ingredients and balmy evenings are invariably spent water-skiing or crabbing in the shallow pools. My heart feels full when I see the kids’ knobbly little knees squatted deep in the all-consuming dusk search for crabs.

When we’re not in Cornwall, we’re at home on the farm in Essex. We’re lucky to live in a rural idyll, where artichokes grow in veg patches, ducks waddle around and bees hover near the lavender. The kids have mammoth sleepovers with friends; maybe there’ll be a boyfriend or two who I’ll say can’t come back! One hot evening last year, Jamie and I took the kids to nearby cornfields in Jamie’s Argo [all-terrain vehicle] to watch the sunset. It was glorious. I said, “Kids, you’re going to remember this for the rest of your lives,” and I think they will. Come September, I still get that back-to-school sinking feeling.

This summer, we’ll head to Cornwall again for two weeks (in our dreams, we’d buy somewhere there). It’ll be low-key and I’m looking forward to getting away. Everyone looks shattered and we all need a break. As long as it’s the same views, the same waves, the same Padstow fish and chips, I’ll be happy.’

‘We started going to Cornwall as a family, and that’s when the best holidays began’