Even though it is a grey, foggy morning, I woke up thinking of Summer holidays.
One of the first holidays I can remember is going to a "Holiday camp" when I was about 5 and my brother 7. We couldn't believe our luck.
We were so excited, jumping up and down on our beds and being told to "simmer down".
We were going to have so many adventures.
The adventures started on the journey there. they involved a sort of "prang" with another car, and "harsh words".
Two things then happened that caused my Dad to wave us goodbye and tell us he would come and get us at the weekend.
The family from the "pranging" incident were in the bungalow next to us. At the holiday camp there was a lot of shouting over a loudspeaker and in the morning a bugle woke us up. My Dad said he felt like he was back in the army and just had to go.
We had a lovely week, riding around on bicycles made for two, singing "Daisy Daisy", and "My Old man" and watching people wearing red coats dance and sing on a stage. We were very happy to see him at the weekend.
We never went to a Holiday camp again. My Dad read an article that said "The proper Dad takes his kids camping ", and that is when our real adventures began.