Not so Hot - Scotland

My first two trips to our northern neighbour ended abruptly. My dad’s job meant his company regularly paid for the petrol up there and a room in a hotel, so he only had to pay for an extra room. But they figured it was cheaper to buy a 7-berth tent (and all the necessary gear?) than pay for two rooms, and we went to a campsite in Ayr. Unfortunately, swimming in the chilly Easter sea was not the best of ideas and we had to come home early because I caught pneumonia.
The second time we went up in a camper van, I think it was a second attempt at Ayr?), but after a couple of days Dad’s severe stomach pain resulted in a mad dash across to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, where he

was diagnosed with a hiatus hernia. So we spent several days camped out in the car park (with special access to the hospital loos etc) while he recovered enough to drive us home – Mum couldn’t drive back then.
A third trip en famile, saw us stopping in a campsite in Northumberland before hugging the east coast up to Aberdeen, across to Inverness and then down the side of Loch Ness to Fort William, no doubt marvelling at the sight of Ben Nevis. But my folks weren’t into mountains so we did no more than set foot on the bottom of it, just to say we’d been there.

After Greek Island trips from 1985-7, Bri and I didn’t manage a holiday in ’88, because Chris’s birth in July meant all bets were cancelled as we adjusted to life with a newborn, and the following year we only managed 5 days in Yorkshire, leaving the day after his 1st birthday. So we made up for it the next year with 2 weeks in France in May, then the first of our autumn breaks, which we managed for the next two Octobers before being constrained by school holidays. It took till 2000 to repeat this, then every October half term from 2002 to 2008 saw us in France for at least 4 days – I’d started teaching and desperately needed that break after the gruelling Autumn terms.

So in September 1990, we took 2-year-old Chris and 10-month-old Jo to a lovely log-built chalet in the woods near Dunoon – for three years till the kids started school. We’d discovered the town played host to the U.S. Navy's Polaris missile program, which aimed to provide a nuclear deterrent against the Soviet Union during the Cold War. Created in 1961, it was active until 1992, and I’m sure we would have visited it, although I have no memories of the place.

Edinburgh Fringe

I first visited this in 2007, sharing the driving with Jo (a remarkable feat considering she hadn’t yet passed her test), and we stopped off at the Old Smithy at Gretna Green, which also features in a couple of Treasure Hunts (Lost in Time and Captive). We stayed in the Travel Lodge a short walk from Princes Street, and spent many happy hours watching the street performers execute impossible feats. Because it was so early in August, the Comedy Fringe hadn’t yet started and we caught the back end of the Jazz Fringe, seeing a number of great musical performances.

The following year saw us back again, this time with Chris and Steph, and we stopped the night at a hotel in Carlisle, which Steph found due to her passion for all things supernatural. It was supposed to be haunted, in particular one bedroom, a little exploration brought us to the room. I can’t remember which one of us got up the nerve to open the door, nor who was more surprised, us or the poor guy lying in the bed. Oops. That trip saw us revisiting Gretna and checking out the café where JK supposedly wrote a lot of Harry Potter and we also went on a ghost tour, where I got picked on to demonstrate something dark. An awful lot of scenes the second Colour of Light book, Chrysalis are based on this trip, including the phenomenal Celtic Drummer Band Clanadonia, who also turn up in a bunch of the Hengist books, and are key to some major plot points in the first book, Archer.

In 2010, Steph’s A-level drama class wrote a short play called Twelve, and their enterprising drama teachers took it to the Edinburgh festival for a short run. So we had to drive up and watch it – another couple of chapters in Chrysalis. Ten years after that first visit, Steph was performing again, and Bri and I flew up to watch the production of HMS Edinburgh: Love Over Gold – a wartime tale that saw her perfecting a very credible Polish accent. Here’s the blurb: Caught in the terrifying crush between the Nazi and Red armies, two Polish lovers are overshadowed by the ambitions of a ruthless Russian officer, who haunts their lives.
We dashed straight to the venue, getting lost because the phone satnav was something I’d not used before, arriving with minutes to spare to find a performance had already started. Grabbing drinks, we tried to

sit unobtrusively and watch what turned out to be virtually a one-man show, waiting for Steph to appear. When it finished, we realised there was a different venue upstairs, and sat at the back for the last 20 minutes. Thankfully, we had time to watch the following day’s show before hustling to the airport. I just found the souvenir flyer I kept and was mortified to find it clearly states, “upstairs at the Silk Nightclub.” And has a map on the back. I can only imagine we didn’t have this with us on the day!

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. This walk has so many interesting sights it played a massive part in one of the Dungeons and Dragons scenarios in the last Time Doctors book, Lost in Time.
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: