My oh my, it’s that time of year again for hurriedly trying to book a summer family holiday.
Last year I discovered the joy of renting a comfortable cottage, as opposed to squatting in a tent.
When the rain lashed down against the windows and a flash flood was held at bay by the cottage door, I felt completely justified about the additional spend.
But this year I’ve left it rather late and am now entering panic mode.
This is because all the cottages that are left, at a rate I can afford, are so far north that I’m looking at £200-plus in petrol costs to get there and back.
Stay-cations feel like such a false economy.
The price of the venue, the travel and the food on top is enough to make me weep.