Cairns Colonial Club Resort, Queensland, Australia

So I've left this one a little late. 'Late' is being kind, as it's now around 18 months since we actually visited the Colonial Club. It's so late that the only way to leave a Trip Advisor Review is to lie and say we visited in August 2015 (as opposed to, ahem, 2014). Of course, lying aside, it's been so long that I can't really remember it very well, so it wouldn't be a very accurate review - or, perhaps, a fair one, as who knows what might have changed in the last year and a half. Anyway, for anyone considering this hotel or looking for accommodation in Cairns, I'll try to help.

We first visited this hotel over ten years ago, on the recommendation of my mother-in-law. The recommendation came mainly because of the beautiful tropical grounds, and I can see why. The hotel has several swimming pools, landscaped to look like natural waterholes, and the grounds are filled with tropical vegetation and an abundance of wildlife (listening to kookaburras and spotting the odd bandicoot may be yawnsome for the natives, but it's pretty exciting for a Brit who's used to pigeons and worms). Unfortunately, when we visited (both times), it was winter. Back in 2004, this wasn't a problem. Winter in Queensland is like summer in Britain, with temperatures usually in the late twenties. That said, the pools were pretty shady and actually very cold, so our admiration stayed aesthetic. In 2014, however, it was a different story - the temperature was around nineteen degrees and it was rainy. The pools didn't even look inviting, let alone feel it. It was a big disappointment, as the grounds were one of the reasons we chose to come back to this hotel - visions of lying by the pool with a book, watching the children frolicking in the water, quickly evaporated. The pictures are of the grounds back in 2004 - the picture below those, taken on a boat trip from Cairns, demonstrates why I didn't bother taking any picture of the grounds in 2014...

Pool at Colonial Club Resort

The restaurant can be seen to the right

The restaurant is on the left and a pool on the right

Near Cairns, August 2014 - lovely weather!

We didn't actually spend a whole lot of time at the Colonial Club on our most recent visit - we were only there two nights. I can remember that the staff at reception were very friendly and helpful, the food in the restaurant was delicious the night we ate there, and it's a bit of a maze trying to find your room.

As for the rooms, they've certainly improved a bit since we were there in 2004. Whilst we loved the hotel itself and the grounds on our first visit, the room was more Hi-de-Hi than hotel. It was clean and comfortable, but definitely more functional than luxurious.

Room at Cairns Colonial Club in 2004

When we booked for 2014, the only option that allowed us to have our children in the room was a studio apartment. It wasn't huge but it did have a separate bedroom for the adults, allowing the children to sleep on sofa beds in the lounge (it would be quite spacious if there were only two of you). There were also basic cooking facilities, which we didn't make use of (other than the fridge), and a TV in both rooms - bonus. As I can't remember much more about it, I'll let my video (below) do the talking. Overall, I would recommend the Colonial Club Resort for a stay in Cairns. The hotel is a little outside the centre but it is a short drive or cheap taxi ride away. The setting is lovely if you have the time and weather to enjoy it, and it was actually very reasonably priced (which was a welcome change from 2004!).

Check out my YouTube channel (Holiday Obsessive) for more hotel tours, in Australia and elsewhere.

What's really important

So it's all change in the Holiday Obsessive house. Hubby has got a new job. No longer is he a stressed-out teacher, working all the hours of the day but with amazingly long holidays. He has joined the realms of the normal world, with a quite respectable six weeks holiday a year. What am I to do?

He first mooted the idea of giving up teaching nearly two years ago. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, schools are a very stressful environment to work in, especially at the moment, and for him to leave that situation could only be a good thing. On the other hand, the idea of losing all those holidays was almost too much to bear.

On an average year, you see, we'd spend eight or nine weeks on holiday - and I don't mean off work, I mean actually on holiday. They wouldn't all be expensive or exotic - some would be downright cheap - but the point is we'd be away from home. We'd have a week in the sun in October half-term - there's something lovely about going somewhere hot when the weather in England is getting colder and the nights are getting longer. We'd have up to a week in February half-term - possibly visiting friends and family. We'd have up to a week again in May half-term - Butlins has been a previous May destination. And we'd have a week or more at Easter, maybe in a cottage somewhere, perhaps in France. The killer, of course, has always been the summer holidays. Over the last few years, we've taken up to five weeks to really explore France and Spain (or Australia the year before last). It sounds extravagant - and I guess it is - but when you're camping, as we usually are, you can spend five weeks on holiday for less than the price of a week's package holiday. The beauty of spending such a long time away is the variety - you get to see so many different places and stay at so many different sites. It can be an adventure holiday, sightseeing trip, beach holiday and city break all in one.

The idea of giving all this up, particularly our long summer break, was not exactly appealing. At first we looked at self-employment options. After all, I'm self-employed and work from home - if I want to take a week or five off work, I can. I don't get paid, however, and that's the crux of it. No income from either of us for five weeks is not really feasible. And so it came to be that, in December, my husband started a normal job. Nine to five, Monday to Friday, six weeks holiday a year. And the really funny thing is I don't mind.

It made me wonder why I'm so holiday-obsessed, and one thing became clear. It's not just about the sun - although this has huge appeal. It's not just about seeing new places and trying new things, although this is something I really love and my bucket list is pretty huge. It's not just about relaxing somewhere and letting other people cook for us - although this is an added bonus. The thing I like best about holidays, sickly but true, is spending quality time with my husband and children away from the stresses of everyday life.

This is why I'm okay with our new reduced holiday allowance. Quality family time on holiday was always so important because we just didn't get it the rest of the time. Anyone who has worked as or lived with a teacher will know how huge the workload is. Evenings were spent marking, planning and doing paperwork. Weekends were spent marking, planning and doing paperwork. Those bits of the weekend that weren't spent working were marred by the very idea of it lurking in the background. Sure, we would go out together as a family at the weekend sometimes, but my husband would be crotchety because he knew it was time he 'should' have been spending working. I remember one lovely Saturday. We had gone to the cinema for the kids' morning matinee, followed by lunch in a restaurant and a wander around the local museum. As we strolled back to the car, and I mused how nice it had been to spend the day together, I noticed my husband was quiet. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me the day had been a waste of time because he hadn't got any work done. That's life with a teacher.

If we spent school holidays at home, work would inevitably creep in. There would be a small amount of catching up on household jobs and then it would be more school work. When he wasn't working, he would be stressing about it. Going away on holiday, however, changed things. Away from home, away from the books and the computer, my husband couldn't do any work. The first couple of days of any holiday would always be a little uncomfortable. He would get itchy feet while he adjusted to not being able to do any work. And then it would change. He would relax. We could spend days together as a family, happy, laughing, enjoying life. Sure, the kids would drive us mad and holidays aren't without their own stresses, but it's a whole different world to the stresses of being at home.

So this is why I'm okay with having fewer and shorter holidays. I'll miss seeing so many new places, I'll miss eating hotel food, I'll miss the tremendous variety that a five-week holiday allows. (I wont miss our October sun - that holiday is sacrosanct and we won't be giving it up!) But I won't miss the family time because we now have it every weekend. No longer are evenings and weekends for work - now they're for chilling out in front of the TV or a film, going for walks, playing board games and eating pub lunches. Now they're for going to the cinema and wandering round a museum without feeling like we're wasting time. This time together is priceless, particularly while our children are so young. I never thought I'd say it, holiday obsessive that I am, but this regular time together is worth a thousand holidays.

Plus, free weekends equals lots of mini-break opportunities, right?!

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)!