Nothing says summer holiday like a family row in the rain

Nothing says summer holiday like whining kids, having a row with a family member, and heavy prolonged rain.

- Steve Canavan

Fortunately, we were able to tick all three boxes of vacation bingo within 24 hours of this year's annual pilgrimage to Seahouses, a pretty little beach/harbour resort in Northumberland.

Myself, Mrs C and the kids (Mary and Wilf), as well as my mum, my sisters and their children, are staying in a big house down a quiet country lane-or at least it was quiet until we arrived.

The house has a hot tub in the garden-I know, right posh for a family which grew up on a council estate and wasn't allowed to flush toilet paper down the loo without first using both sides ('we have to get our money's worth,' my dad would say) - and the kids spent the whole four-hour car journey begging to be the first ones to jump in it.

As soon as we arrived they changed into their bathing costumes, dived in, and after two minutes of increasingly evident disappointment, said, 'what does it do?' “It doesn’t do anything,” I said. “You just sort of sit in it and relax.”

“Well, that’s rubbish,” said Mary. “Yeah boring,” said my sister’s son. They got out and haven’t-as of four days later - been back in.

The kids spent the rest of the day, as kids do when they arrive somewhere new, in a state of feverish giddiness, but this didn’t go down well with my mother, whom, though I love very dearly (apparently she kept me alive when I was younger), is now 79-years-old, deaf in one ear, and increasingly prone to mood-swings and a damn good nag.