Last weekend was my boyfriend’s dad’s 60th birthday. He’s a huge F1 fan, so my boyfriend and his sister clubbed together and bought him tickets to go to the Belgian Grand Prix.
The whole family went for the weekend, apart from me.
Most of the time my mother was frightened of flying so I would accompany her on a rubbish staycation trip
The reason I didn’t go was because I hate F1 – the noise alone is like nails on a blackboard to me!
I didn’t relish the prospect of paying £300 for something I really wouldn’t enjoy.
Jez didn’t mind that I’d missed out on the family bit, he was more fussed about the fact that I’d passed up on the chance to watch the grand prix.
He even got ex-racing driver and TV presenter Tiff Needell on the phone to try to convince me of the error of my ways.
According to Tiff, if I’d gone I could be the next Nicole Scherzinger by now!
Yeah, I think I’ll stick to a quiet weekend pottering around the garden thank you very much!
Jez: When it comes to couples taking separate holidays, I remember my parents doing this a lot.
Most of the time my mother was frightened of flying so I would accompany her on a rubbish staycation trip.
In 1979 my father booked to spend Christmas in Mexico and would be flying long haul to get there.
My mother was terrified at the prospect of a 10-hour flight and instead opted to take me by train to Inverness for a Highland Christmas.
Hilariously, the train journey to the Cairngorms took longer than my father’s flight to Mexico.
My father fell in love with Mexico and would treat himself to an annual summer trip every July, while my mum and I would holiday closer to home.
Summer 1984 proved interesting – my mother and I drove to the Costa del Sol in southern Spain whilst my dad flew to Mexico.
After a three-day drive we eventually arrived.
But then the car broke down and my poor father had to end his Mexico trip early to rescue us in Spain!
My mother has since overcome her fear of flying...