Not so Hot - Wales

Believed by its residents to be God’s Own Country, Wales has well and truly captured my heart over the years, whether conquering Cader Idris for the first time with my beloved Aunty Lynne, exploring the fabulous Dolgoch waterfalls or the quirky Italian village at Portmeirion. But when Bri and Sasha started visiting my Uncle Alan’s caravan near Corris, it took on a whole new meaning, as they fell every bit in love with the place as I did. Initially, our walks centred around the same places Lynne showed me, and Sasha scampered up Cader like a mountain goat. We tried not to worry as she went right up to the edge of the various precipices. Barmouth was a solid favourite and I loved the Last Inn, with its indoor water feature and myriad fairy lights.

South Wales

My first experience was in the early eighties, when a few hours down to Ross-On-Wye got us to Barry Island, where a rather strict landlady of a B&B reluctantly allowed us to share a double room in the days when lack of a wedding ring still mattered. She eventually warmed to us after the 3rd trip. It was a great base for exploring places with cute names like the Mumbles and Ton-y-Pandy. I remember Cardiff's huge cathedral, with a surprisingly modern interior.

Mid Wales

We loved the van so much that when Alan was thinking of giving it up, we paid the ground rent for several years before buying it off him in 2020. We didn’t manage to get down until June that year, because a week after it opened in March, the government in their anything-but-wisdom closed the borders. Literally on the day we planned to travel down there. Since then, we spend 3 or 4 days every other week from March till it closes in November (except school holidays, when we avoid the dozens of kids playing Lord-of-the-flies).
Bri got a walking app, and through it we discovered several more walks, including one around the nearest town, Machynlleth, and what we call the “French walk” near Castel-Y-Bere, which includes an avenue of tall evergreens similar to many we’ve seen in the French countryside. But our favourite has to be Darowen, a gorgeous village nestled amid several tall hills, with a tortuous narrow road sporting few passing places and a multitude of heart-in-mouth moments at each blind hilltop. But the enchanting countryside and the views across the top are so worth it. Even better when the farm shop has a marrow in it! Recently, we discovered that the nearest village, Corris, has more to it than the miniature Italian Village (just past the Slater’s Arms) and an abandoned mine with 2 old drill shafts which look like a heart from a distance. We’ve extended our walk to include some woods at the start and a truly unexpected cluster of holiday chalets at the end. Even after a full decade of van visits, we’re finding new places to explore.

North Wales

When the kids were very young, we stayed in a hotel in Conwy, and I have vivid memories of walking around the castle walls which surround the old town. Portmeirion is definitely worth a day trip, and I’d recommend lunch in the nearby Castell Deudraeth – steeped in history. As is Harlech Castle, around ten miles south, but you’d need a separate trip to do either of them justice. Anglesey Island, which features in some of the Arthurian Holy Grail legends, is somewhere which always attracted me, and although we drove along the A55 to Holyhead en-route to Ireland, we never stopped to explore. It gets a brief mention in the third Colour of Light series, Captive – a complex treasure hunt, and I’d always intended to trek up there as part of my research, but the Covid-based travel restrictions in 2020 made this virtually impossible. In the end, I glossed over this part of the journey and stuck to places I knew well – trust me, I had more than enough of those to choose from.

Not so Hot - Across the Pond

New York

For Brian's 50th, I organised a trip to New York which included seeing his favourite opera, La Boheme, at the Metropolitan Opera house - on November the 10th, 2000, which just happened to be the 16th anniversary of our very first date - watching death of a salesman at the Belgrade theatre Coventry. By this time, Moonstruck, released in 1987, Was firmly in my top three all time favourite movies. When I showed it to him, he loved the wonderful characters, stellar writing, and fabulous supporting cast including the guy who played Marty Crane, Frasier’s dad (more about him later). The chemistry between Cher and Nick Cage’s characters resonated, as did the music, opening with Tony Bennett's That's Amore, and featuring excerpts from la Boheme all the way through.

I went to great lengths to recreate some of the scenes, including getting my hair straightened into a fabulous up-do and buying a dress which should have cost £180 - normally what I would spend on clothes in six months. I managed to get it for £60, which didn't hurt at all. So the scene was set for us to recreate the meet cute by the fountain outside the met, and an obliging passerby took the above iconic photo. One of my strongest memories (apart from £15 for a tiny glass of bubbly), was walking out into the foyer after dropping off my coat. Every single woman in the place was wearing black, navy or some other dark colour, and there was me in this bright, salmon pink dress with a flamenco ruffle (as modelled by Darcy Bussell in the Debenhams catalogue). I could hear a susurration of whispers around me Exclaiming at such bravado, and when I spoke, it led to speculation that I must be somebody, to have such an accent.

We'd already seen La Boheme in the UK, and I remember my eyes filling with tears at the scene in the Christmas market when a host of children fulfilled the stage. It was without doubt the most magnificent Opera House we'd ever been to, and the only slight niggle was that our seats were separated by a considerable gap. Probably the only reason I managed to bag the seats in the first place.

The following night we dined at La Grande Ticino, the restaurant used in several scenes, frequently with John mahoney's character having a glass of wine poured over him. It was the very first time I'd ever had oysters - I won't say tasted, because with the whole slipping them down the back of the neck idea you didn't actually get to taste anything but the garlic and lemon in which they were stewed. Every wall in the restaurant proudly displayed photos of the members of the cast, and in a nice touch, when I got chatting to a lady in the loos, she revealed that one of the gentlemen in her party (on the table next to us), was actually the professor on whom John's character was based. Fun!

The whirlwind tour included the open-topped Apple bus which took us to various sites, including where Mother Teresa worked, And a gawp at the building where John Lennon was shot. Very tasteful. We also did the obligatory jaunt out to Ellis Island and climbed the first few stages of lady liberty, bought trinkets for the girls in Macy's, and as you can see from this picture, we got in just before the 9-11 destruction of the twin towers. It would definitely have been a different visit if we'd gone the following year. We also spent time in Central Park, snapping this iconic picture of the outdoor ice skating rink. On the last day before coming home, we visited the national history museum, and it was great fun seeing it come alive six years later in Night at the Museum.

Not so Hot – Paris & Eurodisney

May 1990 saw my first trip to Paris. We were staying in a gite in Brittany and for whatever reason, thought it would be a good idea to spend a day in Paris with a two-year-old, a six-month-old and a massive double buggy. We set off early, drove to Place d’Italie and walked from there all the way to the Champs Elysees (around 4 miles), admiring the architecture and it was quite a while before we realised the nappy-bag was in the back of the car.

The smallest pack of nappies we could buy was around 30, along with industrial-sized packs of all the other paraphernalia required to service a baby. Thankfully, she was fully breast-fed – the most awesome, portable, sterile delivery system ever designed. But I still quake at the memory of travelling on the metro (Parisienne underground) with 2 kids, the double buggy and that blooming pack of nappies.

The first time we stayed in Eurodisney (Sept 1993), it had only been open for 16 months, and still maintained quite high standards. Our family room in the cowboy hotel included a TV running wall-to-wall Disney movies, a mini-bar and, most importantly a fridge for keeping milk cool for the kids.
We were entranced by the attention to detail, with beautiful blooms in the luxuriant borders being planted in their pots so they could be easily removed should they fall below the required standard. The queues for the rides were humungous, and we soon learnt to get into the park early and had the scary Snow White ride all to ourselves at that time in the morning. Disney imagineering knew no bounds With each of the themed rides being more visually exciting than the last.

Our favourite was Pirates of the Caribbean, but the kids loved it's a small world anyway, and we have footage of their wide eyed enjoyment. But the biggest value for money came with the real life characters. Tigger made a huge fuss of Stephie in her pushchair - she was barely four months old and cute as a button, and every time Chris came across a cowboy they would draw their guns to his delight. But this first year was all about Beauty and the Beast, and we must have watched the lunchtime show three or four times in the short stay. Best thing was the yellow ball gown which transformed Jo into Belle. By the end she not only knew all the words to the songs in English, but in Fran French as well. Both the daytime and night time parades were not to be missed, and we got to see the fireworks as we walked through the Disney Village back to the hotel.

We went again in 94, 95 and 98, noticing the dropping of standards - that useful fridge went from only having water to being switched off and turned around - but we fired it up anyway. We revisited some of our favourite haunts, and watched the many shows, including the Wild Bill Hickok cowboy dinner show, with real life horses. Poor Brian got picked on at the lunchtime show in the old fashioned cowboy saloon and, despite this being his worst nightmare, he played along manfully.

While we waited for the parade, entertainers would get the crowd going with the chant, “Tout le monde, levez les mains, comme ca” – everyone raise your hands like this. At only 15months, Steph already had rock-chick tendencies. The last visit was in 2004, by which time they’d built the Disney Studios section giving rise to a whole new experience. Instead of staying in one of the on-site hotels, we had a chalet in the nearby Disney camp, which added an extra element. I would definitely recommend it if you have kids (and a stack of money to cover the daily expenses).

Steph and I travelled by ferry in August 2009, to pick Jo up at end of stay as an au pair. I was very pleased with myself for driving through Paris, and actually navigating to the right place, only to find that over half of Parisians desert the city for the month of August, and the on street parking was free! We stayed for a couple of nights at French family's pied-a-terre not far from Notre Dame, and she showed us Paris. We then went to Gometz, a small village on the outskirts, and I remember driving through a thunderstorm of biblical proportions. The house was on an extremely steep road, and the next morning it was blisteringly hot, and I opened the door to get the air con going, for getting I'd put the car in gear as instructed. Long story short, I ended up at the bottom of the hill with my hair trapped under the car's wheel, telling Joe to grab some scissors to cut it off I then figured I wasn't going to lose my hair to that hill, and made Jo reverse the car up the hill so I could get free. She had not long passed her driving test.
Several years later, after graduating, Jo went back there to teach English as a second language and stayed several years, meeting her Ukranian husband who was one of her students.

Not so Hot – Central Europe

December 1974 St Moritz, Switzerland

Back in the mid 70s, schools didn’t do all the extracurricular trips they do today, and the only option was an Egyptian cruise which my folks couldn’t afford as it was three times dearer than my sister’s skiing trip to Austria. She enjoyed it so much she blagged herself on another trip even though she’d already left school, and somehow, Mum managed to get me included, which meant reuniting with several kids I’d not seen since junior school, four years prior.
At 15, this was my first adventure outside the UK and, although the antithesis of a sporty type, I did well enough to join the intermediate group and have the thrilling experience of skiing down the side of a mountain with a sheer drop on one side. Scary, but exhilarating.

Because she was older, Deb joined the sixth-formers, and when it came to having a quick tipple on New Year’s Eve, I was bundled in, too. I vividly remember a disco, and The Goodies’ Father Christmas Do Not Touch Me playing as I joined the queue for this treat, waving jauntily to my contemporaries, who missed out on the fun, still being in the 4th form. Even before this insufferable smugness, I was left on the outside of their tightly-bound friendship groups, which I didn’t mind as I had little in common with them, being far too studious after passing the 11+ to go to a grammar school. So I hung out in the pool room with a bunch of lads from a Surrey school, and one lad, Nigel, was very keen, pairing with me on the table football against two of his friends. I recall walking into the nearby village, snuggled up in woolly scarves and appreciating the romance of all the Christmas lights. We rode back on the same sleeper train, and I remember doing the Quo dance (thumbs in belts) to Caroline and Down Down.

When we got home I wrote weekly to Nigel, who only returned a couple of letters before I finally got the message about the fragility of holiday romance/long-distance relationships. In a complete shocker, I’d apparently also given my address to a German lad Udo and, although I don’t remember speaking to him much, I ended up with a real pen-pal, who wrote faithfully for many months afterwards. He was extremely erudite, and seemed much keener than my actual boyfriend. He wanted to buy a guitar and I sent him a page from the NME featuring info on second-hand Strats. There’s defo a musical theme running through the men in my life.


February 1995 Munich, Germany

Steph was just short of two when my company first sent me to Munich. GPT (GEC-Plessey Telecoms) had merged with Siemens and I flew over to assess their software build suite with a view to implementing it in the UK. This was my first solo flight, but it ran smoothly and I was met in the hotel by a chap from a different department who whisked me straight into the city centre where the celebrations for Fasching (lent) were in full swing, with street performers on every corner.
We had dinner in a bierkeller (with all the clichéd noisy clashing of steins and cheers of Skol!) and he introduced me to weissbier (white beer), a cloudy light ale which goes down like mother’s milk. Unfortunately the ramifications the following morning were severe, when I had to meet (and try to impress) the head honcho. Lesson well-and-truly learnt.

I got on really well with my German counterpart, a tall, striking woman, and the work was quite similar to our way of doing things – except they had a way of putting out builds with unresolved bugs rather than fixing things first and incurring a late delivery penalty. It made good business sense, but went against our natural honour and integrity. Apart from that, there wasn’t much difference between British and German engineers – except they all prided themselves in being fluent in at least two languages apart from their own!. One thing I noticed was the temperature difference - I remember taking the subway into town wearing a denim skirt with no tights – it was considerably warmer than the UK where it would be inconceivable to go tightless in Feb.

Granny Gray

Hold the presses – or whatever the phrase is. We interrupt this broadcast (of holiday travelogues) with breaking news – my fabulous daughter-in-law, Sophia, gave birth to our first grandchild, Constance Jane Gray aka Connie, weighing in at 7 pounds, 1 ounce – massive for three weeks premature. Her entry into the world was marked by a solar eclipse and a stack of meteorites. It wasn’t the easiest of starts, but she’s a fighter, and her parents have phenomenal reserves of courage and strength.

Here’s some pix:

Hot or What? - Barbados

We were lucky to spend a week in Barbados in 2013, courtesy of my wonderful sister and her partner. Sam and Barry bought a timeshare in a smart hotel a couple of decades ago and holidayed there almost every September since then. They knew the island well, and rented a couple of adjacent villas, inviting the rest of us to stay – his job in Philadelphia meant he had enough airmiles to boost us up to first class. Awesome.

I never appreciated how time works at the equator – the day/night is always 12 hours (give or take a minute or two), and the sun rises every day at 6am, and sets at 6pm. no matter what the season. On several mornings, we got up at six and strolled along the beach before breakfast, and every evening saw us watching the sunset with a Pina Colada, usually from the rooftop of one of the villas. Barbados was a perfect piece of Paradise and we had a virtually private beach with a mill-pool sea 500 yards on from fun filled body-surfing breakers. Although a decent bottle of wine was prohibitively expensive – way more than a bottle of locally of locally-brewed rum, and we discovered fierce competition to serve the the best Rum Punch on the island – oh the lengths we went to on the quest of that little gem! Sheer Bliss!

Here's a taste of our holiday:

Hot or What? - Italy

It was always on my bucket list to visit Italy, so when my lovely hubby booked us a week in a really posh hotel, in a room overlooking the gorgeous Lake Como, I was thrilled.
The Grand Hotel Menaggio was the height of luxury, with fabulous food, friendly staff and all-in-all, one of the best experiences of my life. A decade later, I still remember the intricate patterns the housemaid made from my nightie - it was beautiful origami, as you can see - the purple rose in the montage below.

It was one of the few holidays we had where we didn't hire a car, but we discovered another way to travel - by ferry boat. Not the huge, well-equipped car ferries with shops, restaurants and cabins, but more like a bus or train, travelling across water instead of roads. The slow ferries take forever and the fast ferries are quite expensive, but Bri was 65, so the OAP discount was quite good. It got quite chilly - especially going to the extremes (Gravedonga/Como town), and a light jacket was essential. If we were to do it again, we'd consider going one way on the bus.

One of our favourite places to visit was Belaggio, and that and Varenna were linked together with Menaggio by frequent ferry trips. Como town was everything you might expect from a local centre - the market was fun and the cathedral was awesome.
On one day, we were a tad ambitious, doing Villa Monastero (top) in the morning, a quick half, then Castello Di Vezio (bottom). Monastero was beautiful - stunning gardens and a dozen rooms filled with exquisite furniture and artwork.
The walk up to the castle was quite challenging, but so worth it for the views, the history, the falcons and especially the ghosts. I have dodgy knees and one of them swelled up to twice the size by the time we walked back down. If we had a do-over we'd do that first, then maybe return for Monastero another day.
Villa Carlotta would be my 2nd choice - it was pouring when we did it, but there was still plenty to see.

Here's a flavour of our visit: