The British on Holiday (or What on Earth Were We Thinking?)

I have decided today to regale you with tales of the holidays of my youth. Not my early childhood, I don't remember any disasters when I was little - The Isle of Man always seemed to be perfect - apart from my brother holding me over the side of the ferry whilst telling me there were sharks below! The sun shone, the fairies made the glens glow, the trams always ran on time and got us where we wanted to go and my Dad, brother and Grandad always caught fish for tea.

So what happened when I hit my teens? Probably over-enthusiam.  When we decided to go somewhere we picked the first B&B we could find in the guide book, booked and went - usually by train - now that was exciting. 

So onto our great adventures. Well, adventure 1 - Scarborough. As you know I am a huge Bronte fan. Well I had been to Haworth and seen where they lived and where two of the sisters were buried, all that I needed to do was make a pilgrimage to the place Anne Bronte died and was buried. B&B book out, option number one, right by St Mary's Church with sea views, what could be better? Booked! 15 year old me and my mother excitedly boarded the train to the Costa del Yorkshire. 

We arrived at our B&B and were shown to our room. It was in the attic. To be fair it did have a sea view, as long as you stood on a chair, clung onto the rooftop window and peered over the church. Not to be disheartened by such setbacks we began unpacking. I opened up my suitcase and then opened up the wardrobe doors. That was mistake number two. The original doors had obviously broken and been replaced, unfortunately by ones that were far heavier than the actual wardrobe. If you opened the doors, without the weight of clothes inside, it fell on you. Fortunately my Mum caught it before it completely flattened me!

After tea we asked the owner how to get to the front. Well the quickest way is through the churchyard. Okay fine. We did that, then decended about 100 steps into the town, had a lovely time. When it was time to come home we realised it was dark and we had to climb up 100 steps and walk through a poorly lit graveyard to get back. As we got to the B&B my Mum asked if I was okay. I told her I was fine, I had just closed my eyes and clung on to her until we were through. "Oh so did I" said Mum. How we got through, that night or every night after I'll never know. Probably sheer will power. 

It was actually a lovely place to stay and a great improvement on the previous year when we had visited Margate staying in a 'carefully selected' B&B. We were staying in a chalet adjoining the house. That chalet turned out to be the brick shed in the garden which had had a window added and a rail attached diagonally in the corner in lieu of a wardrobe. To access the loo you had to walk across the yard and through the patio doors into the house. The doors were closed at 12 when the owners went to bed so you couldn't drink to much before bedtime!

The year I was 16 we decided to be adventurous. Eight family members, aunts, inlaws and us booked a villa in Malta. It was my first time on a plane. Obviously I didn't freak out when I saw how tiny the windows were and make a break for the door, yelling that I couldn't sit there for hours and nobody could make me, obviously I didn't then have to be calmed down and treated like a five year old and asked to sit in my seat like a good girl and I'd soon be able to see fluffy clouds and there'd be a lovely meal and it would be over before I knew it. I mean that would be ridiculous wouldn't it? Ahem.

I come from a long line of calm, rational women, my Mum and Aunt being two of them. As we arrived at the villa. there were lizards running up the wall and through the air vents. My brother, sister in law and I  trotted in. My uncle followed a few minutes later to ask for help to "get the panicking women in" For two whole weeks we had to hold their arms and time it so that we ran them in as the lizards disappeared. This all went fine until the day before we returned home, when my sister in law's father asked "You know those air vents? Don't they go inside the villa?" There was a look of "Noooooo" from five of us. Needless to say some people didn't sleep that night!

The second week of the holidays it was deemed a good idea to hire a minibus as my brother is a great driver. We bought a map and set off for adventure. In those days Malta only had one set of traffic lights for the whole island. Then there was the question of do they drive on the left or the right? This was soon resolved through experience. In Malta everyone drives in the shade and whoever is biggest goes first!

The most adventurous trip we made was to the Blue Grotto for a sail through the beautiful caves. We set off early one morning.My brother was driving, my sister in law had bailed out as navigator and I was in the passenger seat directing. My brother decided that he didn't need help and could get there himself. We passed a group of old men sitting outside a shop, twice! I pointed this out and my brother told me that they were not the same men. Ten minutes later we passed them again. Then my navigational skills came to the fore. "We should have taken a left here" We did and began to climb a mountain path, which gradually became a single carriageway mountain path. We all joked about hoping we didn't meet someone coming the other way and laughed nervously. Then, it happened. The road finished. Cliff face ahead, sheer drop to the side. As I say, my brother is an amazing driver, which he proved that day when he reversed a minibus down that cliff! We set off again and, when we passed the old men for the fourth time it was finally accepted that the women's view of stop and ask someone might have some validity. We popped into the shop, map in hand to ask. The shop keeper informed us "That maps no good, we make those for the tourists, most of the roads aren't on them." He then directed us to the Blue Grotto and we arrived without further ado...... to find a sign telling us it was closed for the day because the water was too rough!!!

I could regale you with tales of my holidays all day, surfing upside down under a surfboard in Cornwall with my friends expert surfer cousins, being piggy backed down a mountain after losing both my skis in a collision, which European hospital is best -I have tested out quite a few after trying various sports and local cuisines, but I feel this blog is probably long enough,  and anyway, what would I write in future ones if I tell you everything at once?

A Garden is a gym, a therapist, a friend and a delightful, intimate cafe

My garden is one of my favourite places to be. I am already making lots of plans for it for next summer.  This will involve a lot of digging, hammering, painting, planting and my husband building me a new raised herb planter. Oops haven't told him that yet and he reads my blog - sorry darling, love you x

When I was growing up my Dad was the gardener. We had a beautiful garden full of flowers and herbs. I just left him to it and played in it, mud pies were my speciality! After he passed away my Mum just kept the garden tidy, it was Dad's domain not hers, she worked in it with him. gradually it became mostly lawn. So I never really ventured out into it much apart from to laze in the sun and read books.

When I married I acquired an amazing Mother-in-law who could have worked for the RHS. She could grow anything and knew so much about horticulture. When we moved into this house she immediately came to visit, told me what all the shrubs were and how to care for them. We have two very small gardens, my parents-in-law is huge. At first I thought that meant I couldn't do much but my lovely Mother in law bought me a book on Courtyard gardens and told me that by time the children have grown up and I am getting older I will be glad to only have small gardens to tend and that the possibilities were endless. She filled me with so much enthusiasm. By the time she had returned to Malvern I was out there planning and redesigning my garden. It is now totally different to the one I inherited which was a low maintenance one as it had belonged to two teachers who were far too busy for such things.

As soon as spring arrives I am out digging, pruning and planting. My husband often tells me that we really cannot fit any more into it but fortunately we do have a garden like a tardis and it always seems to squeeze things in. A few years ago it was two apple trees and fruit bushes to be squeezed in. Of course they fitted- it was perfectly planned! The harvest was delicious this year. Whenever I cannot squeeze something into my garden I just buy a new planter. The last visit my Mother-in-law made here she looked at the planters covering the patio and down the side of the house and said "You know Janet, you really need a bigger garden" then laughed. I probably do but if I did get the garden of my dreams my poor husband would never see me!

So, why is a garden so wonderful? Well it relieves so many of life's stresses, far better than any therapist. An hour out breathing fresh air, digging, pruning and watching the wildlife out there and peace and tranquility is restored.

It is also a wonderful gym, by time I had dug up and relocated the orange blossom to make room for one of the apple trees I had certainly worked off plenty of calories. And, in case you are wondering, all are growing beautifully.

Last of all it makes a delightful cafe in the summer, sitting out there whether alone or with friends is absolute heaven. The colours and scents of the flowers, the sounds of the bees, butterflies fluttering everywhere and all the visiting birds mean that you can never get bored. In all honesty I could sit out there all summer, I could even be tempted to camp out to check what I miss of a nighttime. We have some lovely pipistrelle bats who fly across the front of the house in summer and I have heard a little owl too and we have at least one fox, but what else comes to visit?

Winter tends to leave gardeners a little sad, I so miss being out there and getting busy. I used to plant vegetables and flowers with the children at this time of year but they have reached an age where their windowsills are their own domain to be filled with tardises and engines not Mum's indoor gardens. Never been faint hearted though. Gardening magazines have been purchased, Hessayon books out and this year's garden makeover is about to be planned. May have some more suggestions for my husband's carpentry skills, which will delight him, but just wait till he sees it finished!