There is nothing wrong with a holiday at home

I don’t understand the hullabaloo about having holidays abroad.

Of course families need a break and a change of scenery after more than a year of restrictions. But why does that have to mean jumping on a plane?

When jobs are being lost across the nation and our high streets are eerily empty, it makes far more sense to holiday in Britain and help the economy recover.

It might rain, yes. But has anyone melted because they got a bit wet?

If you pine for your own space on a beach, try Scarborough. If you love rugged countryside and stunning views, drive to Loch Lomond or the Trossachs in Scotland.

Bournemouth is so classy. Torquay has palm trees and scones better than anywhere in the world.

Hexham has the tastiest fish and chips I’ve ever tasted, and British pub lunches can’t be beaten or replicated anywhere else.

WONDERFUL

And aren’t the best childhood memories made in places you can revisit as an adult?

To me, there is no more better place than Llandudno because I see myself there as a child, happy for days with a bucket and spade and eating ice creams that melted all the way down through my fingers.

Blackpool reminds me of fantastic holidays with my boys. Just don’t eat fish and chips by the beach because once, a seagull swooped down as soon as I’d broken up the fish.

It gave me such a fright I threw the whole box of chips up in the air.

Then there’s Durham, a beautiful city with a spectacular cathedral. My late husband Colin and I visited with his brother David and his wife Ann.

Colin hadn’t long been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s so he’d been pretty quiet. We got a fine for displaying our parking ticket upside down and when we drove past the traffic warden, Colin wound down the window and said: “You smart arse.”

It was so unlike him, as he was always the one to defuse any situation, so we all burst out laughing.

And if the traffic warden heard, they kept on walking and didn’t turn their head.

The most wonderful places are right under our noses, so let’s not turn our noses up at holidaying at home. pered a few of their chances.

When our Robert was 13 and playing for Wrexham schoolboys, me and some other players’ mums decided we’d provide food for all the home and visiting players and their parents after their matches. I was

busy putting out sandwiches, cakes and tea when a man came up to give me a pound towards his food. I clacked him on the shoulder and said: “Don’t be so silly, babes. Put your money away.”

He tried to talk to me but I told him I wouldn’t hear another word about it and waved him away while I set out the milk and sugar.

Turns out he was the Manchester United scout.

Years later, football manager Martin O’Neill was interested in buying

Robert during his early days with Crewe and phoned the house while he was on holiday in Milan.

Robert wasn’t home and Martin said he’d call back, but I mithered him.

I said, “Yes, but there’s a time difference in Milan, isn’t there? So exactly what time will you phone back?”

I didn’t let him off the phone until he’d committed to a time and told me all about his holiday in Milan.

He must have thought, “What kind of family are we dealing with here?”