Same old, same old

Once upon a time, we booked a two-week package holiday to Pineda on the Costa Brava. It was back in the days when you could still get free child places, and for some reason this particular hotel, the Golden Taurus, was cheaper than anywhere else. It turned out to be a good choice - friendly staff, nice food, good positioning on the seafront and a great kids' club. The following year, with package prices seemingly doubled and no sign of the mythical free child's place, we decided to go camping in France. We'd already won ferry tickets, so all we had to pay for was diesel and campsite pitches. With three weeks to use as we wished, we thought it would be nice to tour, aiming to get down to the south of France as we'd done once before (pre-children) - that way we could make the most of the weather and maybe still manage a day or two on the beach. Then we hit on a brilliant idea - if we were going to get as far as the south coast, why didn't we just go that little bit further and hit Spain? Even better, we could book a hotel in Spain and still enjoy a bit of luxury during our holiday!

We didn't even bother to look for different hotels in the north of Spain - it seemed like a no-brainer to book the Golden Taurus again. We'd never previously booked a 'resort'-type hotel independently, and we weren't quite sure how it worked, but at least this one was tried and tested. We knew we'd get a big-enough room, we knew the food was good and we knew they had plenty of kids' facilities. Most importantly, it wasn't far from France, we knew how to get there and it had plenty of free parking. Our time in Spain went very smoothly - we found the hotel without any problems (obviously), our room was actually bigger than during our previous stay (a benefit of booking direct, perhaps?) and the boys were even allowed to join the Thomson's kids' club, despite not having booked with the company. Even better, the whole three-week holiday, including diesel and campsite fees, cost a fraction of what a week in the same hotel would have cost via a package deal.

Apart from the occasional night here or there, that's the only time we've been to the same hotel twice. We tend to prefer to try new destinations rather than go back to places we've already been. It's not that we don't like the hotels we stay in and would rather not return - after all, I normally do enough research to ensure we're going somewhere we'll enjoy. We just like the variety, and it's always nice exploring a new hotel in a new resort. But still, there was something really comforting about returning to the Golden Taurus. We didn't have to waste time looking around the hotel to see where everything was. We knew exactly where to go for breakfast, where to find the kids' club and where the toilets were. We knew how the restaurant arrangements worked (always a minefield) and what time the mini-disco started. We knew where the hotel was in relation to the beach, the town, the train station. We recognised lots of the staff, and some of them seemed to recognise us. After the long drive from France, there was something really nice about rocking up at a familiar hotel - like seeing an old friend for the first time in ages, or getting changed into your favourite PJs after a long day.

And so it is that this year we're going to do it again. Not the Golden Taurus (although I did previously look into the logistics of staying there again this summer) but to the Bitacora in Tenerife. We first went there last October, through a package deal again (see my previous review, Spring Hotel Bitacora, Tenerife). As usual, I did my research before booking and scrolled through Trip Advisor. The overwhelming pattern was that everybody seemed to be repeat customers - 'This was my fifth time at the Bitacora', 'We come here every year', etc. I found it a bit sad, to be honest - with so many places to see and so little time, why waste that time by going to the same place over and over again? But I took comfort in the fact that it was good enough for people to come back, and didn't hesitate to book it.

But as our week progressed, the idea of coming back became more and more appealing. The hotel itself was fairly faultless - the rooms were large and clean, the food was good, and there were plenty of facilities. The location was also great - close enough to plenty of shops and bars, a short walk from the sea and in an area that has clearly had a lot spent on it in recent years. Funnily enough, I hadn't realised at the time of booking that it was actually directly opposite a hotel we'd stayed at in Tenerife previously. We may well have booked that hotel again if it had been available, as we had really liked both the hotel and the location, but it was nice when we arrived at the Bitacora to find that we already knew where we were and what was around us. The weather was also amazing. We regularly go away in October, usually to mainland Spain or the Balearics, and the weather varies from pleasant to fairly hot to downright cold and rainy. We were particularly lucky during our week in Tenerife, though, and it was in the thirties every day. We were easily able to swim in the pool and the sea, something we wouldn't normally do on holiday in October (although Lee has been known to go in the sea on principle). The resort was also busy - not uncomfortably crowded but with plenty of life. Resorts are usually closing in October - we tend to find only a few of the shops and restaurants are open, and there's the feel of a ghost town - so it was a pleasant surprise to be somewhere that was still 'in season'. But the thing that really clinched it for us was the staff. The animation team in particular were the best I have ever seen at a hotel - they quickly knew our sons by name and would make sure they stopped to chat when they saw us around the hotel. The boys loved going to the kids' club and soon made lots of friends, most of whom asked if the boys would be coming back next year, because they were. On our last day, waiting for the coach pick-up, the boys asked for the umpteenth time if we could come back next year. Two of the animation team had just stopped to say goodbye, and the hotel was busy preparing and decorating, ready for Halloween. It suddenly seemed stupid to say no just for the sake of it - why shouldn't we come back next year? We'd had a lovely time, the boys had had a lovely time - it seemed like an obvious decision. Although we usually like to pack lots in during our holidays, it's also nice sometimes just to relax, especially after our manic five-week camping trip in the summer. Going somewhere you've been before takes the pressure off visiting lots of places, as you've done them all already. There's no guilt in spending the days lying by the pool, as you don't feel you're missing out on anything and you know the kids are having a whale of a time. Add the almost-guaranteed good weather, the comfy rooms, the delicious food and the friendly staff and it really was a no-brainer.

Once at home, I was scrolling through the hotel's Facebook and I saw a video of the Halloween entrance to the restaurant. So much effort had been put it into it (see it for yourself at the bottom of the page!), and I realised I was missing the Bitacora already. It wasn't long before I'd booked up to go again this October (this time direct and not through a package, saving at least £1,000...), ensuring we'd be there for Halloween this year! Funnily enough, a friend booked to go to the same hotel this summer, without having realised I'd been there too. She was keen for reassurance that the area (and the hotel) was okay, and of course I waxed lyrical about how much I'd enjoyed it. Then I panicked - had I oversold it? What if she didn't like it? Nothing worse than recommending somewhere only to find out you clearly have weird taste. I needn't have worried - not only did she have a lovely time but she also intended to book to go again the following year! Not just me, then!

Anyway, this time next week, I will be getting ready for dinner in the familiar Bitacora restaurant, having spent the day by the pool or on the beach. The kids will have been to the kids' club and seen their old friends from last year, and I will be looking forward to a drink and a game of cards on the balcony, looking out at the familiar view. It may not be new and exciting, but sometimes you just can't beat the same old, same old. If it ain't broke, don't fix it!

Chifley Alice Springs Resort - Australia Part 3

So, I thought it was about time I caught up with some of those Australia reviews I've been meaning to do for the last year, with several hotel videos still waiting to be uploaded to YouTube. This one's for the Chifley resort in Alice Springs. I seem to remember we got a cheaper deal booking direct via the hotel website than with Trailfinders. It was one of the few places in Australia where we had a hotel room rather than an apartment, so we were back to spending the evenings in the bathroom again once the children were asleep (it was too cold at night to sit on the balcony!). We also only spent two nights here, and it was over a year ago, so my memories are a little vague! Anyway, in case anyone's looking for somewhere to stay in Alice, here's my cut-and-paste review from Trip Advisor.

 

We stayed here for two separate nights as a stopover to and from Ayer's Rock. Reception was very busy and we had to wait a while to be served, but the staff were very helpful and friendly, and happy to book a taxi to the airport for us. The room was fine - not huge by Australian standards, but big enough for a short stay for a family of four. The bathroom was a reasonable size, with separate bath and shower, and there was a small terrace/balcony with seating for two. We had two queen-sized beds, which were very comfy. There was plenty of wardrobe space, a wide-screen TV, an iPod/iPhone docker, toiletries and tea/coffee-making facilities (and biscuits!). The resort is set out with various apartment blocks and a separate reception/restaurant area. There was a swimming pool, but it wasn't warm enough for us to take advantage of this. We did, however, eat in the Barra on Todd restaurant both nights, as we enjoyed it so much the first night. The food was lovely, and they also had a children's menu and were very welcoming to our children (which doesn't always happen in hotel restaurants). The included breakfast was also delicious, with lots of hot and cold choices. It was a short and pleasant walk into the centre of town, with plenty of amenities within easy reach. We would happily stay here again when visiting Alice Springs.

 

Here's a quick video tour of the room. For more holiday-related videos, visit my channel (Holiday Obsessive) on YouTube.

 

The phone, the kayak and me

I really missed a trick this summer. Five weeks of camping in France and Spain, and not a single blog post. The original plan was to collect all my Facebook status updates into one holiday-diary-slash-blog-post, as much for my own amusement as anything else. Alas, it wasn't to be, mainly because I lost my phone two thirds of the way through the holiday. And when I say 'lost', I don't mean mislaid. Rather, it went out of action...

It all started in Spain. We'd had a week of quite frankly rubbish weather and I was feeling pretty miserable. A friend had messaged me to gently point out that my posts were all a bit negative and maybe I should start trying to enjoy myself. It was a fair point. So we decided in our wisdom that the solution to our holiday woes was a 12km kayak trip down the Herault Gorge. Yes, I know.

That idea started before we even got to Spain. Trying to find a campsite nearish Montpelier, and experiencing deja vu from a previous holiday nightmare, when everywhere we tried was full-up, we found ourselves a bit further out than planned, in a village called Gignac. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as it was just a few minutes from the Herault Gorge, with its beautiful Pont du Diable (Devil's Bridge), Grotte de Clamouse caves and the extremely picturesque town of St Guilhem le Desert. While exploring the area, we saw lots of people canoeing and kayaking on the river, and thought it looked like fun. There were several kayak hire centres in the town, and we briefly wondered whether it might be a nice idea to have a go. The thing is, we're not really adventure-holiday sorts of people. Pre-children, I'd had a go at horse-riding, scuba-diving and quad-biking, but post-children, going down the slide at the soft play was about as adventurous as it got. Other than a twenty-minute try-out session on the beach in Jamaica, I'd never been in a kayak in my life. Still, while sitting in our tent in Spain listening to the rain (again), it started to seem more and more like a good idea. We needed something fun, something different, something to look forward to. Something we could talk about afterwards (ha!).

We started doing a bit of research. We could choose the 4km cliff trail with no rapids, suitable for four-year-olds and older, or the 12km classic trail with a few 'straightforward and safe' rapids, suitable for six-year-olds and over. Well, if you're going to do something, do it properly, right? Dylan was six, we wanted to make a day of it and a few rapids sounded like fun. I looked through the FAQs on the website. 'Do I need to be able to swim?' 'Yes, you need to be able to swim 25m and put your head under water.' Hmmm. Dylan could swim a little bit, yes, but 25m? Er, no. But stick him in a lifejacket and he'd be fine! He was confident in water, would have no worries sticking his head under, and it wasn't like we were actually going to fall in, was it? If you haven't spotted the plot by now, I should remind you that whenever our friends have a holiday disaster, they liken it to a 'Sennett holiday', as ours are so renowned for going wrong...

We booked the classic trail. After leaving Spain, we headed back to the same campsite in Gignac and got ready for the next day. The forecast was dry and hot for the first time in a week. We bought a packed lunch for our picnic stop the next day. We re-read the list of things to bring with us. Swimwear or shorts, depending on the weather - definitely swimsuits. Waterproof jacket - er, no, I don't think so. Change of clothes - okay, they could stay in the car. Towels - hmmm, maybe bring them with us in case we're brave enough to take a dip at our picnic stop. Shoes that won't slip off - my flip-flops would be fine, surely? They were waterproof and they stayed on fairly well - I didn't really fancy wet Converse shoes...

As we sat on the bus transfer to our starting point, Lee uttered the immortal words, 'You know, this is either going to be the day that starts off our future annual kayak adventures or the one we look back at to explain why we're never going in a kayak ever again.' Yup.

Once at our starting point, we got kitted out. We were given a waterproof drum to store our belongings in - I assumed this was just to keep everything dry in case of splashes. We were given string to tie our sunglasses on - I thought this was overkill, but did it anyway. Finally, in cossie, kaftan, straw hat and lifejacket (a good look), with our lunch, towels, phone and keys in the drum, we got into our kayak. The drum was strapped in, we waded into the water to get ourselves started (thank goodness for the flip-flops!) and we were off.

It was lovely. The sun was shining down, the views were spectacular and, despite the effort needed to paddle (mostly exerted by Lee, to be fair), it was pretty relaxing. After a couple of kilometres, we came to our first rapids. We'd been warned that these ones were the worst, so I was feeling a little apprehensive. But we breezed through with barely a splash. I was glad we'd chosen the rapids trail, was glad there were more coming to liven things up, and almost wished they'd been a bit more exciting. Ha (again)!

After about 5km, we found a lovely spot to stop for lunch. Pate, brioche, beignets (okay, doughnuts) - delicious. The boys went for a little swim and I, being a wuss when it comes to cold water, managed a paddle. We soaked up the sun and reflected on how the holiday was finally looking up again. I took a couple of photos and reflected on how beautiful it was. Then we packed our stuff back into the drum and continued on our journey.

As we paddled along, the scenery becoming even more breathtaking, I commented on what a shame it was that I couldn't take any photos while we were moving. Limiting myself to our infrequent stops meant that I couldn't snap many pictures to help us reminisce about our lovely day. Eventually, we pulled over (is that the right phrase for a kayak?!) on a little beach so we could unscrew the drum and I could get my phone out. Then we got back in the kayak and I took a couple of photos from the middle of the river to get a different perspective. 'Shall we stop again so you can put your phone back in the drum?' said Lee. 'No,' I said, in my wisdom. 'Let's wait until we next stop for a break. I'll put it inside my lifejacket so it won't get splashed.' Because that's all I was worried about, of course - a couple of splashes. But inside its case, tucked underneath my waterproof lifejacket, it wasn't going to get even one drop of water on it. Oh no.

Very soon after that fateful decision, we heard the sound of rapids. We could see them ahead. They didn't look that bad - no worse than any of the others we'd been through. Hell, we knew they weren't as bad as the first ones apparently were, and they were nothing. But somehow, as we got closer, we approached from the wrong angle and managed to get swept around so that we went down backwards. Still, I wasn't worried - I'd been on rides at waterparks where my rubber ring had turned round and I'd landed backwards, and these were safe, family-sized rapids after all. We paddled furiously but hadn't quite managed to right ourselves when we came to the next bit - a narrow gap between two rocks. We tried - and failed - to fit down sideways, and eventually managed to turn ourselves round enough so that we could fit down facing forwards. But our angle was wrong. I'm still not entirely sure what happened, but we hit a rock and the next thing I knew, we were capsizing. There was that awful moment where I could feel the boat tipping up and tried to fight against it, and the next thing I knew, I was underwater.

I was at the front of the boat and couldn't see what was going on behind me. Bad mum alert: it took a minute for me to find my feet, work out I was still alive and then remember the kids - by which time, mother-tiger instinct kicked in. Luckily, father-tiger instinct had already kicked in, and Lee was trying to hold Dylan in one hand while keeping hold of the kayak with the other. Dylan was understandably terrified and shaking. I managed to take him from Lee and lift him onto the rocks, while Lee tried to stop the kayak from smashing us against said rocks. Finn, meanwhile, was completely unperturbed, and headed off down the river after our lost paddle (I'd managed to hold on to the other) and both my flip-flops - yes, yes, now I understand why they tell you to wear shoes that won't come off. It took me a while to work out that maybe it wasn't a good idea to let my nine-year-old disappear off down the river by himself, at which point I called him back. Luckily, he returned with the other paddle and my flip-flops - my hero!

Finally, we were in a position to assess our situation. Firstly, we were all alive. Secondly, none of us were too badly hurt. That was actually pretty lucky considering the weight of the kayak - the fact that neither boy got trapped underneath and none of us got our heads bashed against the rocks was pretty miraculous. My right leg wasn't quite so lucky, and had taken a bit of a battering against the rocks - now I knew we were all safe, the pain had started to kick in. Lee had also bruised his leg but the boys were remarkably unscathed, thank goodness. We concentrated on turning the kayak the right way round - easier said than done, as it was pretty heavy. Of course, it was also full of water. We attempted to ladle it out with our paddles but eventually gave up, figuring that we were pretty wet anyway, and sitting in a boat full of water wasn't going to make much difference. Thank goodness the drum had been strapped in - there it was, still attached to the kayak, all our stuff safe and dry inside. Except... my phone!!!

It won't exactly come as a shock to hear I had a blank screen, regardless of how many buttons I pressed optimistically. To be fair, I was pleased it was still tucked inside my lifejacket and hadn't been carried off by the river. We managed the remaining 6km without further mishap. We were all a little shaken, Dylan in particular, and we all felt pretty nervous every time we approached more rapids. Lee, strangely, had really cheered up despite the nerves, and was in the best mood I'd seen in days - must be something about knowing you'd come so close to death (okay, a broken leg) and cheated it. As we neared the end and saw the signs for our kayak stop (not very clear, it has to be said), we realised there was a little waterfall ahead of us - cue frantic paddling to ensure we managed to get our kayak out of the water where we were supposed to and didn't disappear over the waterfall (which would be just typical of us). I was amazed there weren't big signs to tell you where to get out and even bigger signs to warn you of what was ahead - although, given our previous experiences of French health and safety, I really shouldn't have been. We got out, dragging our drum with us, and handed our lifejackets back to the staff, smiling and nodding that we'd had a lovely time, too bloody British to reveal the truth of the matter. Maybe it's the fault of us nodding, smiling Brits that it's still classified as a gentle, family trail?!

But what to do with my phone? I wracked my brain trying to think about what I'd read in the past about dunked phones. I thought about red wine stains and putting salt on them to soak up the moisture, and that seemed a good idea, so we went to the supermarket and bought a packet of sea salt. Back at the campsite, I took my phone out of its case and dumped it in a bowl of salt. I then, somewhat belatedly, borrowed Lee's phone to go on Facebook and ask everybody what to do with a wet phone. When I mentioned the salt, everyone was horrified - 'It's corrosive,' they said! 'Use rice' they said! Whoops. I eventually found a website with instructions. First, it said, make sure the phone is taken out of its case straightaway. Fail number one. Then remove the SIM card. Fail number two, but I did this now. It was rather wet. Not a good sign. Then remove the battery...huh? It's an iPhone! You can't remove the battery! Especially not with the limited tools we had available in our tent - removing the SIM card without that key thingy was hard enough (an earring works pretty well, though, for future reference). Eventually, I put my phone in a plastic bag full of what little rice we had left (no chilli for us that night). I left it for a few days, planning to leave it until we got home, where I could get the battery removed and see if it had dried out, before plugging it in and ruining it forever. Of course, curiosity eventually got the better of me and, figuring it was dead anyway, I plugged it in. This was no easy feat as I first had to remove a piece of rice from the socket hole. Then, like some kind of mirage, the apple sign appeared on my screen - it wasn't completely dead after all! In fact, apart from the fact that it now has a piece of rice inside it (the bit in the SIM card slot just wouldn't come out), it was just the same as it had been before, kayak photos and all.

A few pieces of advice to come from this. Never give up on your phone. Remember that something described as 'gentle' and 'suitable for six year olds' in France may not be described the same way in England. Put all your belongings in the drum when kayaking and do not remove unless on dry land. Do not wear flip-flops when travelling in a kayak. Tie your sunglasses on with string, however much it feels like overkill (I didn't lose them! Nor did I lose my hat, actually, although I'm not sure how I managed that). As for Lee's prophetic statement, we are a family divided. He thought it was a great adrenaline rush and would like to go kayaking every year. Dylan would be very happy if he never had to go near a kayak again. Me? I'm undecided. Maybe next time we'll just stick to the 4km cliff trail for four-year-olds.

What happens on the hen-weekend...

It was the first time I'd been on a non-family holiday for a long time - a hen weekend in the Norfolk Broads. I only knew four people out of the sixteen going. I'm the only one out of said-sixteen who doesn't drink (alcohol, not anything at all, otherwise I'd be dead, obviously). I was still sleep-deprived after the Moonwalk (click here to sponsor - you know you want to). Fancy dress and 'organised fun' were on the itinerary. I was sharing a room with someone who once gave me an egg (unboiled, sadly) for a Secret Santa present. I was scared.

I needn't have been. The sixteen were a brilliant bunch of ladies (as Hen's Sister said, 'there's usually one b**ch' but this time there really wasn't) and everyone got on well. The alcohol wasn't an issue, as it seems drunkenness is catching. 'Organised fun' was actually fun, and fancy dress even fun-er. Roommate did not give me any more eggs (although they were involved in the organised fun) and even provided temptation by wearing an eye-mask at night. I'm still sleep-deprived, but you can't have everything.

Our group was split across two apartments in Wroxham, eight in each. Our apartment, Waterside, was designed to look like an upside-down boat, and boasted an en-suite to each room as well as an extra bathroom upstairs (five toilets between eight people seems less of an extravagance than you might think bearing in mind the amounts of food and alcohol consumed). As our apartment had the largest living area, we all congregated there for our first evening of 'organised fun'. After a quick game of 'Would You Rather' (live without Internet or never go on a plane again? I'm still agonising over this), we moved on to 'Two Truths and a Lie'. We found out many things about each other, most involving poo or wee, and sadly everyone wrongly believed I'd once been mounted by a goat. On the other hand, anyone who knew anything about one particular attendee (from here on known as Little Miss Clumsy) had no trouble picking out 'running over a stranger's suitcase' as a truth. The laughs continued with a 'special' game of Pass the Parcel, with a forfeit between each layer. I felt I'd got off lightly being wrapped in toilet roll like a mummy when other forfeits included gargling the National Anthem, dancing suggestively to the rustling of a plastic bag and several rounds of egg-on-forehead roulette (nothing to do with Roommate this time). No huge surprise that Little Miss Clumsy ended up with egg on her face...

 

The following morning saw us out on the boats for the first time. They held a maximum of eight people each, although there was seating for more, making them feel fairly spacious. Special 'Little Miss' T-shirts were originally part of the plan (Little Miss Clumsy was going to be 'Little Miss Late' - missed opportunity!), but in the end we opted for a white T-shirt and veil for Hen and black T-shirts for the rest of us. If anyone was in any doubt that we were a hen party, the special 'funglasses' provided by Hen (mine were fab gold guitars, while others included pineapples and palm trees) gave it away. We soon got into the swing of things, singing at the tops of our voices, waving madly at every boat we passed and generally getting a bit merry. Much to my disappointment (sadistic - moi?), no one actually fell in, despite letting Little Miss Clumsy drive (steer? captain?) the boat for a while. The general plan was to motor along the Broads until we came to a pub, at which point we'd get out and have a drink and maybe lunch. What actually happened was a sitcom-esque farce of getting out at one pub and then getting back in the boats as soon as we'd bought drinks, as it was raining and there was nowhere to sit inside; getting out at the next pub and finding seats, only to find the extractor fan in the kitchen was broken, it was 120 degrees and they weren't legally allowed to cook food; getting back in the boat to go back to the first pub, only to find out there was a carvery in the second pub and we could eat there after all; getting back out of the boats to go and eat at the carvery, just to find out that all the seats were already reserved; and giving up and buying all the Cornish pasties, sausage rolls and crisps in the pub, only to hear the extractor fan was fixed and they were serving food again.

Back in the apartments, we prepared for our night out of curry and karaoke. Unbeknown to Hen, Hen's Sister had prepared us for a game of Bridezilla - namely dressing up Hen in various 'interesting' items of clothing bit by bit as the evening went on. As discussions ensued about what counted as 'going out-out' clothes and Hen decided to top off her outfit with the tasteful veil she had worn on the boat that day, I cringed as I visualised what she'd actually look like by the end of the evening. To be fair, I'm not sure any visualisation could have prepared us for the end result, as items included fairy wings, a green flashing veil, glow-stick glasses and a green furry bra with sunflowers (I knew that Moonwalk bra would come in handy again one day).

We ate in the very lovely Rishi restaurant in Norwich and, apart from the clothes, I thought we were remarkably well-behaved for a hen party. The waiters were polite and helpful, so we can't have annoyed them too much, and the other diners looked on with amusement rather than disgust. The signal for the adornment of Hen was the tapping of a glass, and I know what we'll all be thinking now during the toasts at Hen's actual wedding. The last item to go on before leaving the restaurant was a pair of knickers, cunningly decorated with rude words and pictures. The donor had kindly brought along three pairs to choose from, so it was democratically decided that Little Miss Clumsy and Hen's Sister, the bridesmaids, should wear the other two. I actually felt slightly more sorry for them - at least with Hen, the comedy glasses, bra and feather boa made it obvious she was in fancy dress. But dressing up normally for a night out, with just a glimpse of knickers over the jeans... not so much.

As we entered the pub - The Brickmakers - and got a few second glances, Hen began to look uncomfortable. 'I think this is a local pub for local people,' she whispered. I can't imagine why she would feel conspicuous. It actually turned out to be one of the friendliest pubs I've ever been to. The atmosphere at the karaoke was surprisingly supportive, with everyone cheering everyone else on. To be fair, everyone sounded so damn professional - even those hens who got up and sang (or rapped and danced to 'Ice Ice Baby', in the case of Little Miss Clumsy and Hen's Sister) - that you couldn't help but clap and cheer. I decided not to let the side down with a tone-deaf rendition of 'White Wedding'. The fun stopped for an hour to watch the Foo Fighters live at Norwich on the big screen (the hen weekend coincided with Radio 1's Big Weekend). I thought I quite liked the Foo Fighters, but after an hour of listening to the same song over and over again (they were all different, apparently, but I'm not convinced), I'm not so sure. Luckily, the karaoke continued afterwards, and the highlight of the evening was Graham, a little old man who'd been sitting at the bar, belting out a surprising classic - never did I think I'd end the evening dancing to an old man in a Christmas jumper singing Kings of Leon's 'Sex on Fire'...

The next day, our boat adventures were spiced up with the addition of fancy dress. The theme was a moment in history, and the interpretations were varied. Along with another hen, I chose 20s style, a costume that has now been recycled for several different occasions. Other costumes included 60s, 80s, WW2, a Victorian bather, a pirate and a passenger on the Titanic (that was Little Miss Clumsy, appropriately). Hen's Sister made us all laugh by dressing as Conchita Wurst, winner of Eurovision 2014, made even funnier by the fact that, without the Austrian flag to provide the context, she was simply a woman with a beard. Hen dressed comfortably as Freddie Mercury, complete with moustache - it would seem the sisters have a liking for facial hair (evidence also includes Hen's preference for funglasses with an attached moustache).

As we stepped onto the boats in our finery, I started to empathise with how Hen and the bridesmaids must have felt the night before. Still, once we got out on the Broads with all the other dressed-up people, it would be fine - after all, 'There's loads of groups in fancy dress on the Broads,' said Hen's Sister as she planned the itinerary. Although, come to think of it, I didn't remember having seen anyone in fancy dress the day before, unless you counted Hen's veil. And, other than one pirate hat and a small child in a penguin costume, we didn't see anyone else in fancy dress that day either. As we continued to wave madly at every passing boat and they simply gave us derisive looks, we wondered where the jolly atmosphere from the day before had gone. Surely my flapper dress and feathers, Roommate's luminous earrings and Little Miss Clumsy's Edwardian outfit and small cardboard Titanic were worth waving at? After a stop at the pub and a few more drinks on the boat, we didn't care. We waved even more madly at those people who looked grumpy and were rewarded with the appearance of a blow-up doll on a stag-party boat. We soon resorted to singing a variety of Queen songs as loudly as we could, not to mention the theme from Titanic, while Little Miss Clumsy re-enacted the final scene from the film by lying on the floor of the boat clutching onto a cushion. Good times...

Upon mooring back at Wroxham, Hen spotted a little girl doing cartwheels in the pub garden and, for reasons unknown, decided it would be a good idea to join in. This, I might add, was despite having a broken finger (nothing to do with the hen weekend, believe it or not). The first cartwheel was fairly successful, at which point the little girl began to demonstrate her prowess with a series of cartwheels and Arab springs. By this point, Roommate had decided to video the goings on, while I started muttering about child protection and looking around for the girl's parents, sure they might have us arrested - or at least beat us up - for taking videos of their child without their permission. Amidst shouts from Roommate of 'Little girl! Little girl! Do another one for the camera!', Hen also decided to oblige, finishing it with a rather spectacular fall sideways, somewhat reminiscent of Delboy in the infamous Only Fools and Horses episode. Luckily, at this moment I spotted Little Girl's parents, laughing at a table nearby, seemingly unconcerned that their daughter was being filmed by a bunch of drunk women. But I guess it would still be unethical to send the video to You've Been Framed - shame, 'cos that'd be a guaranteed £250 right there.

After the acrobatics, we decided to visit Roys. If you've never been to Wroxham, you might be asking 'Who's Roy?' But if you have, you'll be asking 'Which Roys?' (and the answer is most of them). Wroxham appears to be owned by Roy, and we spent large amounts of the weekend wondering who he is. There is a Roys department store, Roys clothes, Roys supermarket, Roys food hall, Roys garden centre, Roys toys, Roys children's centre (this doesn't actually sell children but neither does it sell toys, so we never figured out quite what it did sell), Roys pet store and Roys DIY (and possibly others we didn't discover). Shopping in fancy dress, we soon discovered, is an interesting experience. Staff in Roys department store eyed us suspiciously as soon as we entered the store - I can't imagine why. Perhaps it was the added fact that the alcohol consumed on the boat was leading people to stagger a little (my heels were doing the same thing to me). Or perhaps it was when Hen, aka Freddie, grabbed a hoover and started singing 'I Want to Break Free'. Fearing we were about to be thrown out, we moved across to Roys supermarket, where the staff were altogether more friendly, even when Little Miss Clumsy asked for three shillings and sixpence cashback. The chatty staff in Roys toys assured us you do usually see groups in fancy dress in Wroxham and we were just unlucky, but I think she was just trying to be kind. After all, the looks we were getting from most people who passed us did suggest they'd never seen a 20s flapper girl chatting to Freddie Mercury before. Incidentally, we found out that 'Roy' was actually two nineteenth-century brothers, Alfred and Albert Roy, who opened a village store nearby in 1895. We were kind of disappointed.

The original plan for that evening was a Mary Whitehouse Experience DVD marathon (for those not of a certain age, this was a 90s comedy show, which launched the careers of David Baddiel, Hugh Dennis, Steve Punt and... whatever happened to Rob Newman?), but Hen forgot to bring it. We decided instead on a game of Trivial Pursuit, or perhaps some more 'organised fun', but once we'd eaten our Thai takeaway (from the lovely and very accommodating Yim Siam Thai Restaurant) and had an obligatory drink at the pub, we were all too tired and instead headed back to our rooms for an early night. At our age, one big night out was enough.

The following morning, we were up early - a quick tidy-up and you'd never have guessed a hen party had occupied our lovely apartment. I was sad to leave Waterside, but it was made easier by the fact that Little Miss Clumsy and I had decided to come back with our families next year (for a somewhat different type of holiday!). It was sad saying goodbye to all the fab new friends I'd made too, but now I'm really looking forward to the fun of the wedding, and seeing Hen waltz down the aisle complete with 'tache...

*Disclaimer: For reasons of confidentiality, only scenic or distant photos have been used, and names have been cunningly disguised to protect the guilty.

 

Don't judge a book - or a house - by its cover

I haven't blogged for a while, mainly because, further to my last post, I've been spending large amounts of time walking. For those that don't know me and haven't read my last post, in just over two weeks I'm taking part in the London Moonwalk, a walking marathon through the streets of London in the middle of the night (in a bra!) to raise money for Walk the Walk, a breast cancer charity. The closer we get to the event, the longer our training walks have had to become (we managed nearly 18 miles yesterday!), and such walks take up a lot of time. Once stretching and showers are included, our longer training walks take up the best part of a school day (the only part of the day that actually counts for me), leaving little time for work and chores, and pushing blogging dejectedly to the bottom of the pile. If you'd like to support this very worthy cause by sponsoring me, please click here (worth a try!).

Of course, it won't come as a surprise to find out I have still managed to fit a little holiday in since my last blog - a week in Wales. We wanted something cheap but not camping (not in April, when it actually snowed during our Butlins holiday two years ago!), so we looked at cottages. Hiring a house/cottage/apartment is a great option for a cheapish holiday, usually costing a lot less than a hotel, especially if there are a few of you going. Other benefits include being able to cook your own meals (should you wish) and having somewhere to sit in the evenings once the kids are in bed other than the bathroom... Anyway, we decided we fancied going to Wales (I had only visited Wales once before!) and I set about looking for cottages on various websites such as HomeAway and Cottages4you . I eventually found a cottage for just £250 for a week, which was nearly £100 less than the next cheapest. (I should add here that you may well be able to get cheaper cottages but I was looking for houses with at least two bedrooms). This cottage had three bedrooms - meaning my children could have a room each - a lovely garden with mountain views, free Wi-Fi, a washing machine and tumble drier, and towels and linen included. About the only thing it didn't have was a dishwasher (a bit of a disappointment, as washing-up is not something I want to do on holiday), but for the price I couldn't complain. Of course, we were somewhat suspicious about the price, so I made sure I thoroughly read all the (independent) reviews - all of which rated the cottage very highly. So I booked it.

The owner of the cottage was very quick at getting back to us, and attached an address and directions. That's the point at which it went slightly wrong. Lee decided to go on Google Streetview to look at the house, and all of a sudden, our bargain didn't feel quite so... bargainous. Our 'cottage' was actually a mid-terrace house (quite cleverly hidden on the original photos), and while it had been made to look pretty with a nice sign and hanging baskets, it didn't really have the picturesque cottage appeal that we had hoped for. The village it was in was not an attractive place - a typical mining village with a small industrial estate near the back of the house. The house next door had all sorts of rubbish in the front garden. It wasn't quite what we had envisaged.

'Cancel it!' said Lee straightaway. I tried to be diplomatic. 'It can't be that bad,' I said. 'After all, the reviews are good. And we won't actually be spending much time in it.' 'Cancel it!' said Lee.

We agreed to sleep on it, and in the meantime I felt bad sending back the most cursory of acknowledgement emails to the owner while we decided whether or not to cancel. What clinched it in the end was good old Trip Advisor. There weren't many reviews on there (there rarely are for cottage rentals) but the first one basically said to ignore what it looked like from the outside. It even mentioned how lovely the neighbours were. We decided to go for it (and my follow-up email to the owner was decidedly more upbeat). The reviews were good, it looked comfy and clean inside, there was a lot to do in the area, and the village - whilst not picturesque - did have three take-aways. For £250, we couldn't moan!

It turned out to be a good decision. The cottage itself was indeed clean and comfortable, with pretty much every amenity we could think of (apart from a dishwasher of course). The neighbours' front yards were empty, and the walls were so thick we couldn't hear anything from either side (and hopefully they couldn't hear us either). The take-aways came in very handy. And while the village - as well as many of the surrounding towns/villages - wasn't exactly attractive, the beautiful mountains and countryside in South Wales certainly were, and some of the views were simply breath-taking. We spent daytimes exploring castles, caves and mountains, and evenings relaxing in the cottage and getting thrashed at backgammon and Trivial Pursuit (to be fair, it was only me that was getting thrashed). It was a lovely holiday, and one I would recommend even if it wasn't a ridiculously cheap £250.

I'm not entirely sure what the moral is here. Do your research, definitely, but don't make snap judgements based on one review or photo. Think about what's important to you on your holiday and what will actually affect you (and what will have only a minimum impact). Paying less money often does mean you need to lower your expectations, but it doesn't mean there's a hidden catch - in our case, we really did get a bargain. And I even managed to fit in some walking training, climbing Pen Y Fan (the highest peak in southern Britain, for those that don't know)!

The wonders of walking (plus a shameless plug for sponsorship)

Once upon a time, before the children, and back when I thought I was fat but had no idea of what was yet to come, Lee and I decided to walk the Cotswold Way. We both liked walking and would think nothing of walking eight miles on a Sunday afternoon, so a walking holiday seemed like a good idea. Neither of us saw the point in staying in one place and going for a different circular walk each day - we wanted a walk with a purpose, with a starting point and a separate destination. We opted for the Cotswold Way, a 100-mile walk between Chipping Camden and Bath, partly because we were under the (total) misapprehension that it was fairly flat (it isn't). (On the subject of misapprehensions, I was also under the mistaken impression that desert boots are the same thing as walking boots. They're not.)

As you may have guessed, I'm not a fan of hills. Another thing I don't like is carrying stuff. I'll carry all the essentials, of course - phone, tissues, inhaler, etc. - but if I can sneak the lunch and the water bottles into Lee's rucksack, I'll do it. Hats off to all these 'proper' outdoors types, who carry their tents, sleeping bags and worldly goods on their backs - simply carrying spare clothes and overnight stuff is too much for me. To be fair, we were planning to do the walk over six days, so that's an awful lot of changes of clothes. We hit on the perfect solution when we discovered the company Sherpa Van, who transport all your bags for you. You can opt for the simple baggage service, where they pick your bags up from each of your stops and transport them to your next place of rest, or you can go for the advanced service, where they also arrange all your accommodation, according to the route and the stops that you have chosen. Not the cheapest way to walk a long-distance trail, but certainly one of the most pleasant.

So, bags packed with comfy clothes, trainers, desert boots (yes, I know...!) and wash stuff, we drove to Chipping Camden, having arranged to leave our car there for the duration of the walk and with the plan of getting the train back from Bath at the end. Our B&B, as I remember it, was very pleasant. It was one of the more traditional ones, like a small hotel, unlike many of the other places we stayed at. Several of the B&Bs were basically a room in someone's house, which felt rather strange, and the frequent lack of en-suites was not particularly accommodating to our desperate need for a shower after a long day's walking. Still, we did pick the cheap accommodation option! On the plus side, the personal touch came in handy on more than one occasion, with one B&B owner picking us up from and driving us to the appropriate point on the trail, and another driving us to a restaurant for dinner. The surprise factor in terms of where we were going to end up certainly added a certain je ne sais quoi to our walks!

Our first walk was around 20 miles, by far the longest distance either of us had ever walked. On the plus side, it was dry and sunny. On the negative side, it was hot and sunny - and I'd forgotten to put sun tan lotion on. It was also very hilly (my favourite), which meant that 20 miles felt more like 30 (I'd imagine). Walking 20 miles up and down hills in the blistering heat was every bit as exhausting as you'd imagine. To make it worse, I'd worn trainers and my poor weak ankles and flat feet did not cope very well. The final straw was arriving at our B&B, only to find that our room was upstairs - never has a flight of stairs felt so much like a mountain.

The next day I resolved to give up on the trainers and wear my desert boots. By the end of the day, my ankles felt much better than they had previously, but my feet were killing me and the first of many blisters had formed. The rest of the Cotswold Way carried on in much the same vein as far as blisters and sore feet were concerned. The weather varied, from boiling hot on the first day to torrential rain (when, I'll shamefacedly confess, we ended up getting a bus for some of the walk, as we were soaked to the skin!) on another. One of the hardest parts was always the walk from our B&B back out to dinner in the evening, after our muscles had stiffened up. The blisters multiplied and grew to sizes never seen before (by me anyway). We didn't really stop for lunch, as we knew it would be difficult to start moving again, and we were fairly oblivious to our surroundings, focused as we were on not getting to our next destination too late. Our nicest day was a short walk of around ten miles, when we got to our destination at around lunchtime and had time to look around and relax. The worst day was the last one, when we saw the city of Bath ahead of us. I think my body did that giving-up thing, as I thought we were nearly there - unfortunately, we still had around five miles to go, and it was like that dream when you're walking towards something but never get there. By the time we reached our hotel in Bath, my feet were in agony and I was literally in tears.

Still, we made it. And, apart from our short bus trip (which I pretend to myself never happened), we felt like we'd really achieved something and were pretty proud of ourselves. We kind of enjoyed it and said we'd do a walking holiday again, but shorter distances this time, so that we could actually enjoy it instead of feeling like we were on a mission.

So why, over ten years later, and having walked no more than seven miles in one go since, have I signed up to walk a marathon? Yes, on May 16th, two friends and I will be walking 26.2 miles across London in the middle of the night, in our bras. We haven't gone entirely mad - this is how the London Moonwalk works. It seemed like a good idea. In an attempt to get fitter (and thinner), I had started doing some short walks around my village, so when someone suggested the Moonwalk, I thought it would be a good challenge, and easier than the Race for Life. After all, I liked walking and had walked 20 miles in a day before - how hard could it be?! Well, I seriously underestimated what a difference the last ten or so years have made to my fitness levels, as walking is nowhere near as easy as it used to be. Still, with regular training, I'm starting to see a real difference. The walks are feeling easier, the weight is steadily falling off and my resting heart rate has gone down dramatically. I've opted for proper walking boots this time, although they sadly haven't stopped the blisters completely. This week we completed our first half-marathon - hopefully, by the time May comes around, we'll be able to complete the full 26.2 miles and keep up a reasonable pace too (while I say I have no time-goal and my only aim is to complete it, I still don't want to be last...!). If you're feeling inspired and would like to help the amazing breast cancer charity Walk the Walk, which funds both treatment and support now and research for the future, you can sponsor my team, the BBs, here. All sponsorship is greatly appreciated!

 

Emu Walk Apartments, Ayer's Rock Resort - Australia Part 2

Here's the second in my long-overdue series of reviews of where we stayed in Oz. To put this into context, in the red centre of Australia is a massive rock known as Uluru by the aboriginal people (and still called Ayer's Rock by many of us), as everybody knows.

What fewer people know (and I didn't) is that near Uluru (relatively speaking) is a group of strangely-shaped rocks called Kata Tjuta (or the Olgas).

These are in the middle of a national park, which is basically hours away from any town. However, there is an airport and there is a small 'town' nearby called Yulara, which basically consists of Ayer's Rock Resort. The resort is made up of several accommodation options plus restaurants, supermarket, etc. Unless you undertake an unbearably long day-trip from Alice Springs, staying here is basically your only option - hence the astronomically high prices, unfortunately. We stayed in the Emu Walk Apartments, which were a good option for travelling with children - we always prefer staying in apartments, as it gives us somewhere to sit (other than the bathroom!) once the children are in bed. I understand they're currently in the process of refurbishing the apartments, so my video may soon be out of date, but hopefully it'll give you an idea of what they're like. Anyway, cut-and-paste Trip Advisor review coming up:

We stayed here last August, so I can't remember as much as I'd like to, but I'll do my best! We had a one-bedroom apartment, which was fine for our family of four. We found where to check-in with no problems (perhaps because we'd been reading the reviews here!) and found our apartment okay. It was on the second floor and consisted of an open-plan kitchen, dining area and lounge (with sofa bed), a double bedroom and a bathroom leading off the bathroom. The kitchen wasn't massively well-equipped, but we weren't planning on doing much cooking! It did have washing-up equipment, tea and coffee sachets, milk, etc. The dining table and chairs seated us easily and the lounge area was comfy. There was a TV, although it didn't get much use! The apartment was fairly spacious (to a Brit, at least!) and didn't feel crowded. The only downside was the bathroom being off the bedroom meant that the children had to come through our room to use the toilet. Staff on reception were very friendly, the supermarket was well-stocked and we had a nice takeaway from the amusingly-named Ayer's Wok. The only less-than-pleasant experience was dinner in Gecko's, where we found staff unfriendly and were basically ignored - maybe we were just unlucky. We would recommend hiring a car from the airport and making your own way to Uluru and Kata Tjuta (the Olgas). Although you can get a free transfer to the resort, the hire car enables you to get there ahead of everyone else and avoid the crush. You can also pay for a permit for Uluru National Park, which allows you to drive to and around all the sights, with various parking, walking and viewing opportunities. There is a free ranger tour around Uluru every morning to give you some first-hand information, and the park was very easy to navigate. We preferred seeing what we wanted at our own pace (particularly with children), and it was an awful lot cheaper than the official tours. Parking at the resort was always easy to find - although not necessarily that close to the apartment. The price for the apartments, of course, is pretty extortionate, as the resort has a monopoly on accommodation. However, I would say these apartments are the best price relatively speaking, and they are a good option if you are travelling with children. I just wish we'd stayed more than two nights and been able to see a bit more of the resort!

If you'd like a little tour of our apartment, you can watch the YouTube video below. You can also visit my YouTube channel (Holiday Obsessive) for more holiday videos (with more to come soon).

Thomas Cook comes up trumps

Woohoo! They paid up!

It's a relief - I'm not very good at boycotting. Back when I was at school, it was all about boycotting L'Oreal due to their testing of products on animals. It was easy enough until I started dying my hair and found a magnetic pull towards their Feria range. More recently, I've read several articles urging me to boycott Nestle, due to their unethical advertising of formula milk in developing countries, as well as numerous other unethical practices. Much as I agreed with the idea in principle, I was honest with myself from the start - I like Mint Aeros and Nestle Clusters just too much.

I should probably add that I refused to book with British Airways again many years ago, after their air miles turned out to be rather a swizz - we flew to Benidorm with them in 2013 and were very impressed, and we've booked with them again this year!

So was I really going to be able to boycott Thomas Cook forever? If there's anything I like 'just too much', it's got to be holidays. And while we may have been able to get this October's trip to Tenerife for a fraction of the price we'd have paid with Thomas Cook, the same can't usually be said for long-haul destinations. In a couple of years from now, if we found the perfect Caribbean break with Thomas Cook, can I really say I'd have been able to pass it up and pay more to a different company on a point of principle? Hmmmm, I don't think the odds are good. When it comes to holidays (and chocolate), my integrity is sadly lacking.

Still, it doesn't matter. Thomas Cook paid the money they owed me, as I asked. They apologised, as I asked. I have no idea whether they've reviewed their computer systems, as I asked, but they did at least promise me they had sent my email to the relevant departments. Much as I was unimpressed at the inconveniences we experienced, they responded (slowly and with a bit of pushing) as I wanted them to. I am officially allowed to book with Thomas Cook again, if I should so want. Phew!

Seashells Scarborough - Australia Part 1

It's now six months since our Australian adventure, and I'm slightly ashamed that I've not yet put any hotel reviews on here. The worst bit about that is the fact that I've forgotten lots of the finer details, so my reviews won't be quite as helpful as they could have been. (It's been a nice trip down memory lane watching my videos, mind you, and it's reminded me of things I'd otherwise have forgotten.) Anyway, hopefully the reviews will still be useful for anyone considering a trip to Australia, particularly with family, and I plan to upload some more videos and reviews over the coming weeks.

I'll begin with my usual Trip Advisor cut-and-paste review of the Seashells apartments in Scarborough. Scarborough is a small town/village about fifteen minutes away from Perth in Western Australia. The apartments are situated across from the beach, with amazing views, and I can wholeheartedly recommend the three-bedroom Sandcastles apartments for families.

We stayed at Seashells in August 2014, so my memory may be a little hazy on some aspects! We arrived late at night, and had already been given a key code in advance to access our room key from a little box outside reception, which is closed at night. There are plenty of parking spaces opposite the apartments to enable you to visit reception, and we had no trouble finding the apartments or accessing our room package. We were allocated a parking space (possibly two?) in the underground car park, and I believe there was a key or code access to the car park to make it secure. From there, there was a lift up to the apartments. We had booked a superior two-bedroom apartment, but we found out on arrival that we'd been upgraded to a three-bed Sandcastles apartment. I was slightly apprehensive, as I had a feeling that I'd read that the Sandcastles were lower starred than the superior two-bed, but I needn't have worried, as we really couldn't have asked for anything more.

As a Brit, used to fairly cramped hotel rooms, the spaciousness of the apartment was the most striking thing. We had three bedrooms (obviously), which meant the children could have their own rooms. The main bedroom had a large en-suite bathroom with corner jacuzzi bath, while there was another good-sized shower room/toilet nearer the boys' bedrooms. There was a large living/dining area and a reasonable-sized kitchen. Overall, the apartment was bigger than plenty of family homes in the UK. It was also well-equipped - free Wi-Fi, washing machine, tumble dryer, dishwasher, microwave, TV & DVD player, CD player, safe, iron & ironing board, etc. Toiletries and plenty of towels were included, and extras in the kitchen, such as dishwasher liquid, milk, sugar and salt & pepper, made life easier.

I believe that the apartments are all individually owned, so the decor and level of upkeep differs. I can't speak for the other apartments, but we certainly had no complaints about this one. Yes, if you want to be picky, it is not brand spanking new - there was a crack in the bath and there were the odd chips or marks in the paintwork. But it certainly didn't look shabby and it was all very clean and comfortable, which was good enough for us.

The apartments are located directly opposite a beautiful beach, and the views from the lovely large balcony were amazing. Sadly, because we were there in winter, we couldn't take advantage of the balcony, although I'd imagine it would be lovely to sit out there for breakfast. Similarly, there was an outdoor pool, sauna and BBQ equipment, but it wasn't the weather to be able to use these.

There is not too much to Scarborough itself, but it is only a short drive to Fremantle or Perth city centre. The main attraction of Scarborough is the beautiful beach, but there is also a big supermarket next to the apartments, and several restaurants within easy walking distance (I'd recommend the Wild Fig Café or Grill'd).

The apartments were very quiet - we couldn't hear our neighbours and only rarely heard people walking past the front door. We had to call in at reception the morning after arrival (can't remember why - think we needed to check in properly or something), and they were very friendly. All in all, the apartments felt like a real home-from-home, and would be an excellent base for a long stay in the area. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend them.

If you'd like a little tour of our apartment, you can watch the YouTube video below. You can also visit my YouTube channel (Holiday Obsessive) for more holiday videos (with more to come soon).

Don't accept anything less - persistence pays off (part 2)

So, I gave up on my £50. And soon enough it was time for our holiday. I checked in for our outbound flights online, and seats together were allocated. Then the screen asked me if I'd like to check in for our inbound flights as well. I was a bit surprised, as you normally can't do this until 24/48 hours beforehand. Still, I clicked on 'yes', thinking it would save us time and hassle on holiday - how wrong could I be? My husband and I were allocated seats next to the window. My five-year-old was allocated an aisle seat in the row in front (so not even directly in front of us). And my eight-year-old wasn't allocated a seat at all! I was confused (as you would be) - the seat next to us was showing as available (as most of them were, over a week in advance) so why had they left it empty and put my youngest son in the row in front? And why on earth hadn't they given a seat to my eldest?! I tried to change the seats around, but it was impossible without paying the fee for pre-booking seats - and yes, I would have had to pay simply to put my other son on the plane at all! Eventually, I decided it must have been a computer glitch and left it. When I tried to print our boarding cards for our outbound flights, it printed them in one long line so that they went across sheets of paper, reaffirming my assumption that they were having computer problems (and somewhat defeating the object of checking in online, as we still had to queue at the airport to get some usable boarding cards). And off we went for a lovely week in Tenerife.

The niggling doubt kicked in on the transfer to the airport at the end of our holiday - should we have spoken to our rep about our check-in problem? But surely, as the website had obviously been having problems, it would all be irrelevant? We joined a nice long check-in queue and looked enviously at the almost non-existent queue for people who'd already checked in - maybe we should have tried to check in again from the hotel. At the front of the queue, the lady told us we'd already checked in. I explained what had happened, pointing out that we would never have chosen those seats ourselves and that our eldest son hadn't been checked in at all. She shrugged her shoulders and told us she couldn't change our seats now and the only spare seat for our son was 13 rows back. We were understandably horrified but she told us there was nothing she could do. Now, I appreciate that most of the seats may well have been allocated at that point, and she may have been unable to change the seats of people who'd already gone through into the departure lounge; however, I wish she'd told us that instead of giving us some cock-and-bull story about 85% of people having already checked in online - one glance at the relevant check-in queue told us that was a load of rubbish. Either way, she told us our only option was to ask the cabin crew if they could rearrange people. Cue a rather stressful two hours in the departure lounge, wondering where we were going to end up sitting. Obviously, my husband or I would have sat in the seat 13 rows back rather than our son, but that in itself caused problems because of how we'd organised our hand luggage, not to mention our lunch (it's hard to share with someone not sitting nearby). The bigger problem was how distraught the boys were, knowing that one of them was going to have to sit on their own in the row in front, next to strangers. None of this would have been quite such a problem if the flight had been shorter, but it was over four hours - a long time for a little boy to sit on his own. I would also have accepted it if it had happened simply because we arrived late at the airport and they were the only seats left. But I was pretty angry that we were in this situation due to a fault in Thomas Cook's online check-in system.

Once on the plane, we explained the situation to the cabin crew, who, luckily, were very helpful. They suggested we sit in our allocated seats while they tried to sort it out, and the very nice man sitting next to me offered to swap with our son in front if they couldn't sort it out. Eventually, the cabin crew managed to swap our seats with some people at the back so that we could all sit with my husband. I thanked the people who were moving, and they looked at me blankly. I later found out from my husband that they had been none too keen on moving, asking what was in it for them and saying they'd think about it. Jeez, how about just a warm glow from knowing they'd helped two young boys to sit with their family?!

Well, that's the long and short of our problems with Thomas Cook - nothing dreadful, but something that wasn't our fault and should have been avoidable. Thinking back to the £50 we never received, I decided to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard). And this is where I come back to making a reasonable request - what did I actually want? What would be fair? Well, I wanted an apology, because our airport experience had been pretty stressful through no fault of our own, and it hadn't been dealt with very well (cabin crew not included). I wanted them to look at their computer systems - after all, we had had two problems due to their website, and surely we weren't the only ones? And I wanted my £50 - as I had been promised. I didn't ask for £300 or a free holiday to make up for what we'd experienced - after all, it really wasn't that bad and it's important to be realistic (although we'll never know if I'd have got more if I'd asked for it!). I just wanted what I felt we were entitled to. So that's what I asked for. I had to fill in a form on the Thomas Cook website and immediately received a template email letting me know I could expect my problem to be resolved within 28 days.

Several days later, I received an email from someone saying they would be dealing with my case - but first, could I please let them know whether I booked my holiday online or in store. Hmmmm, let me think about this. I went into a store, asked them if I could borrow their computer to book my holiday and didn't think to ask them about the £50 offer that flashed up on the screen. Good to know she'd read my email thoroughly. I replied politely (but still pointed out that it should have been obvious from my original email that I'd booked online). And then I waited. After a month and a half, I emailed again, noting that I could now add 'not dealing with complaints effectively' to my list of grievances - 28 days my foot. Finally, 2 months after her last correspondence, and just as I was considering Facebook or Twitter as a more public way to get a response, I received an email from the same lady. She apologised for taking so long to reply, but she had been waiting on a response from her manager - okay, thanks for the apology, but an interim email to explain might have been nice - 2 months with nothing?! She also apologised for the stress we'd experienced at the airport but pointed out they can't guarantee seats unless we pay to pre-book - okay, thanks for the apology again, but she's kind of missing the point. The seat issue was down to a computer problem and not our failure to pre-book (not to mention, in over 20 years of flying, I've never once paid to pre-book and I've never had a problem). Finally, she was very happy to send me a £50 holiday voucher as a full and final settlement.

Hold on a minute? A £50 voucher? That's not the same as £50 in currency! The voucher assumes that I'm actually going to book a Thomas Cook holiday again; if I don't, I lose my £50 and if I do, Thomas Cook gains the money I wouldn't have otherwise spent. Who's the winner here? And, let's be honest, £50 doesn't go a long way towards the cost of a holiday - given that they regularly offer £100 or even £150 off the price of a holiday if you book on a specific weekend, I didn't exactly feel sufficiently compensated. (I could add here that we've booked to go to the same hotel this October - we've booked directly with the hotel, which entitles us to a taxi transfer to/from the airport, and we've booked flights with BA, saving us approximately £1,000 in comparison to the same holiday with Thomas Cook - but that's another issue...) As a final insult, no voucher was attached to the email and, as over a week has since passed, I assume no voucher was put in the post, either. This was the point last week at which I was going to publicise my Thomas Cook battle, perhaps putting a link to my blog on their Facebook page. Still, in the meantime, I wrote back, explaining exactly why I didn't consider a voucher to be a full and final settlement in any way. And within literally five minutes, I got a grovelling email back, apologising profusely and asking for my details so that they could transfer the £50 to my bank account.

So what's the moral to this? Persistence is key - I suspect they'd hoped I would have simply settled for the voucher I was offered, and lots of people probably would have. Hey, if I'd intended to book a Thomas Cook holiday, I might have settled too. But I think it's important to have realistic and fair expectations, state them clearly and don't accept anything less. £50 isn't a fortune, but it's what I asked for, and I'm happy. Mind you, I'm still waiting for it to go into my account, so there may still be a Part 3 to this story...!

Don't accept anything less - persistence pays off (part 1)

This Blog post was initially going to be entitled 'Why I won't be booking with Thomas Cook again' (I know, snappy, right?). I'm glad to say I've had cause to amend it before I even started writing it, so perhaps instead this post can serve as a case study for similar situations. I should probably start by saying that, believe it or not, I'm not a complainer. If you pop across to Trip Advisor and look at my reviews (vix17 - very original!), you'll see that they're mostly very positive and, I believe, fair. I think to a large extent that life is what you make it, and a positive attitude goes a long way towards making that life a happy one. Is it really worth spoiling a holiday by concentrating on the small patch of damp in the corner of the bathroom? I think not. However, when you genuinely have something to complain about, particularly when that thing should have been avoidable, I think you are well within your rights to expect an apology, a refund or whatever else may fit that particular situation. I don't like it when I perceive things as being unfair - when you don't get what you have been promised, for example, or if people in the same situation are treated differently. These are the sorts of situations where I feel the urge to put pen to paper - and once I get started, I have trouble stopping. But it really is worth doing - I have found that a carefully-worded letter, a reasonable request and the refusal to accept anything less then what you are asking for usually gets the results you're after. Take Thomas Cook, for example...

Back in the olden days, before the internet and before I got travel-savvy, we always booked our holidays through tour operators. We continued to do this when the children were babies - the services of a rep felt reassuring somehow, and it was good to know we weren't on our own if something happened. Our favourite was always Thomas Cook, as they usually worked out cheaper; we were also very pleased with the way in which they handled the ash cloud crisis back in 2010. We were staying in Lanzarote at the time, and ended up stuck there for nearly a week longer. I say 'stuck', but it certainly didn't feel like that - we were able to stay on at our hotel on the same board (AI, thankfully) plus miss a week of work, so we actually enjoyed the whole experience. The rep worked tirelessly, keeping everyone at the hotel up-to-date and dealing professionally with the moaners - we really couldn't fault Thomas Cook at all. In fact, so pleased were we that I sent them a letter of thanks - after all, people are always quick to put pen to paper to complain, and I felt it was important to redress that balance. Over the years, however, as the children increased in age and we increased in confidence in our ability to look after ourselves, we realised just how much cheaper it is to book holidays independently. We booked flights and hotels separately and dispensed with the services of reps and tour operators. However, last year we found ourselves going back to Thomas Cook for a holiday to Tenerife.

I booked the holiday online some time ahead. After confirming the price and inputting my details, I was given two payment options: either pay a small deposit and the rest nearer the time, or pay the balance in full straightaway and receive a bonus £50 in local currency. Now, if you have enough money in your account, this is a no-brainer (as it would also be, to be fair, if you didn't have enough money in your account). Normally, I'd just pay the deposit and leave the rest in my account to gather a teeny bit of interest. However, it would have had to be a bloody amazing holiday to gather enough interest to beat the £50 offer, so I opted to pay in full. I added my card details, went through to the confirmation page and looked to see how to claim my £50. And then I looked a bit harder. No, nothing. No mention whatsoever of my £50. It did, however, say that my travel documents would be emailed to me, so I assumed (optimistically) that my £50 would arrive at the same time. Shortly afterwards, I got a receipt emailed to me with a promise of my e-tickets within 48 hours. But no £50. It'll come with the e-tickets, I thought. Eventually, after about a week, I got another email - another receipt. Er, where were my tickets? And, more importantly, where was my £50?! I went on to the website and found that getting hold of customer services was a lengthy process - I could fill in an essay-length email form or spend a fortune (in time as well as money) on the phone. But then I spotted the chat option. I found myself chatting online to a helpful lady who was able to send me the e-tickets I should have already received. However, she knew nothing about the £50 - she didn't know anything about the offer nor how I could claim it. It seems the chat people are limited in their powers to actually do anything - she suggested I phoned them. 'Is it a freephone number?' I asked. Er, no. Then wouldn't it slightly defeat the object to spend money on a phone call for the sake of claiming money? Her only other suggestion was to call into my nearest branch and see if they could sort it out. I finished the chat feeling somewhat dejected. It wasn't exactly convenient to go into the branch. And I hadn't actually got any proof of the offer - an offer that the chat lady had no idea about. I did still plan to go in and try to claim what was rightfully mine, but I didn't get a chance for a while. And then I forgot. And then, by the time I remembered, I felt that too much time had passed. Yup, Miss Complain-when-something-isn't-fair gave up. But that was just the first part of this story...