The best holidays are the ones that feel like an escape. Where nothing resembles your daily routine, and the normal rules don’t apply.
We are on a tiny island off the West coast of Scotland, although you wouldn’t know it from the weather, which has been virtually Mediterranean since we arrived. We have swum in the sea, barbecued on the beach, cycled round the island, kayaked out to an even smaller island, and played golf, bowls and endless games of cricket.
The island is so safe, with few cars and a small population, that we have temporarily untied the apron strings and let the children explore unfettered. They have walked to the shops by themselves, their faces exploding with pride at the responsibility, and yesterday Josh cycled round the bay by himself, with not a wobble in sight.
But soon it will be time to go home. Back to a small town which used to feel quiet and rural, and now seems noisy and unsafe in comparison. Where our six and seven year olds won’t be able to cycle on the roads, walk to the shops alone, or play out in the street until nine every night.
Back to going to bed early and getting up at seven. Back to bath nights and nit checks and homework and play dates. Back to school.
And none of us wants to. We just want to stay here. Just the five of us, and the dog, on our Scottish island.