As the days slip past on holiday I always start to feel the pressure. It’s entirely a problem I invent for myself. The need to ensure we experience the place we’ve visited with a balance of history, culture, fun – made worse if it’s a flipping mini break. I am a bit of a nightmare.
So we have done animals, museum, food, movie on the first days. History it is then. Really going on holiday with me is fun.
I went to the Tower of London when I was little. I remember it vaguely and there is photographic proof of me in a T-shirt covered in road signs.
It’s such a brilliant place. I’m far from a monarchist but we got through the crown jewels bit without me spending much time thinking about that and focused instead on Gangsta Granny. We spent a bit of time dodging school parties round the white tower, and didn’t hang about in the torture room for obvious reasons. We chatted to a beefeater and discovered the royal mint. It’s such a great place.
After lunch there was more tube travel and walking past iconic sites. The kids were probably bored of me by now. They quite liked the wobbly bridge though and I got overexcited because we passed Joe Thomas from the Inbetweeners. In true celebrity spotting style I didn’t know his name and Paul had no clue who I was talking about.
Then it was the Tate Modern. I can highly recommend going with children. It makes you all look at art with innocence. It is also a bit embarrassing. I made the mistake of asking them to find one piece they loved and one piece they didn’t in each room. Limiting themselves to one they disliked was a challenge. I’m pleased none of the artists were there.
It made no sense to them and perfect sense.
Then it was back to the hotel for a picnic tea on the bed spread and some telly. Followed by Paul and I sitting in the actual bathroom this time while the kids eventually dropped off and Paul banging his head on a glass shelf.