My View - Wednesday 1st August 2018 

The school summer holiday merry-go-round is in full swing and it's involved a lot of forward planning on the kitchen calendar. There are highlighters and stickers all over the shop. We've roped in grandparents, friends and random good-deeders to cover the period between now and the beginning of September. I need a holiday just thinking about the logistics. 

Our daughters are passed the age of needing us to entertain them 24/7, but they still need to know we're somewhere in the vicinity in case they accidentally spend their bus fare on a new mascara. My husband works from home, so that helps. Well, it helps me, because he's the first port of call for any empty purse/new make-up scenarios. It's easy to ignore a text, but the landline, not so much. 

This year, the twelve-year-old's been invited to Portugal with her best friend's family for ten days. Initially, I was a bit freaked out by the amount of time and distance between us, but I've got a grip. Her best friend's an only child, so I feel I'm doing her parents a favour by sending entertainment. I've managed to engineer things so that my fourteen-year old's away for four nights of that too. It's a crying shame the husband and I are working. I clearly didn't think that one through... 

Managing tweens and teens over this six week stretch can be tricky, but I still think it's easier than the toddler stage. The worst start to a holiday I ever had was at Butlins in Skegness with a friend and her two children. I'm not going to get too graphic in case you’re reading this over your muesli, but lets just say in involves the potty being locked in the roof rack, rotavirus and a leaky carrier bag. We hadn't even checked in. I'm sure if I tried to book another holiday with that company, my name would flash up with a massive WARNING sign next to it. 

When I was school age, I was shipped off to various holiday schemes but my heart was never really in them. At cooking club, I was more bothered about making mischief than moussaka and only once produced a vaguely edible pavlova in a tupperware box. The horse riding one was horrible and I'm certain was the start of my phobia of anything hooved. I can't remember the exact trigger, but it could be something to do with coming last in the gymkhana and receiving a mint chocolate yoyo instead of a rosette.  

The thing with the summer break is that no sooner have you sorted out who's doing what and where, you're booking a slot on the Clark's website and cursing your child for leaving their half-eaten ham sandwich in their school bag last term. I think the idea of half a dozen weeks away from routine is great, but I think we'd all be happier if the kids stayed at school and the parents got to go to cooking club.