The Restaurant

The autumnal sun was beginning to set over the rural Cheshire landscape as I embarked on my journey to Cambridge. The weather was kind and sympathetic to my plight, and all else being equal, this journey could be no worse. Cambridge itself has been the centre of learning for generations, and in modern times a hive of activity in the bio-tech environment. There are a wealth of small independent companies popping up, with a mutual knowledge base and slight differentiating factors. In my exam mode, a wonderful example of industry clustering.

It was one of these small businesses that became the destination of my journey, and although my knowledge of Bio-tech’s and science is lacking from the average Pharmaceutical employee, their numbers are still numbers that go up in the same order.

An old Chinese proverb states that a journey of one thousand miles begins with one step. In my case, the journey was about 160 miles and I was in a car. But the Chinese cannot be expected to know everything. They did well with the Olympics, and are best in class when it comes to Wall building.

My car deserves a brief mention. It was hired from Avis, who I can now publicly declare are rubbish and if you had any choice in car borrowing then please do not use this company. I do not get angry with the help very often, but on this occasion I was incensed to the point of perspiration. I won’t go into the details but take my word for it, go with Hertz.

Having said that, the actual car was very nice. It was an executive class Citroen which is not up there with the Mercedes or BMW’s of this world but still for a man of my simple pleasures, it purred along the M6 like a Siamese cat on a banister. So after a brief interlude on the toll road for a Costa coffee or as it should be called “Cost-alot Coffee”, I then reached my destination at seven o’clock.

The hotel was a lovely example of a hostelry in a semi-rural setting that’s main focus is business travel. But unlike many of the genre, the Felix Hotel was an AA 4star establishment and one that, at first impressions, I would be very comfortable in. They type of hotel that if you were paying for it yourself then you would probably have resided in one of the competition that was in more of a central location to Cambridge, but as I was enjoying the hospitality of Uncle AZ, it was more a case of a hearty clap of the hands and an enthusiastic “Happy Days”.

The restaurant was the hotels “jewel in the crown” and, as I have previously mentioned, due to the hotels remote nature, there was no other choice than to endure the nouvelle cuisine. I have two simple rules of thumb in restaurants; firstly, look at the price, if it makes you blow out your cheeks and chortle at the fact that at least you’re not paying, then it’s probably good; and also secondly, if it has items on the menu that I have no idea what they are, and more surprisingly have never even heard of, then again, it is probably good. This restaurant ticked both of these boxes.

The standard was exceptional. I have no complaints what so ever, it was first class. My fellow diners, however, you could have been excused to think were less than content. As it was a Monday evening, restaurants across the land complain of low numbers of covers, and the Felix was no exception. Apart from me there was only one other table in my half of the restaurant, obviously the half that was reserved for the more discerning diner.

“I must say, the pork is hardly, how I would describe, tender.”
“Is this a beetroot salad, or just slices of beetroot interspersed with chutney?”
“This fish reminds me of the course that we once had in Madrid.”
“Was it not in the Alps?”
“Oh, do you remember the charming little Auberge in the mountains, still the most favourable venison that I have ever experienced.”
“Do you know my favourite way of serving fish finger sandwiches is with a fine spread of Marie Rose sauce.”

This was snippets taken from the conversation to my right. As the meal progressed the comments became more and more pretentious. I could not help but snigger to myself at certain points and to my relief later on, thank goodness I was undetected.

As I was thinking to myself that this could be the most pretentious restaurant that I have ever been in, and buoyed by the glass of red wine that I had, I asked the head waiter if this was the usual standard of clientele that he could expect most evenings. To my relief he replied, “No. Those are the owners, and they are interviewing for the Head Chef.”

Finally the comments began to make sense, and like a clever film that had an unexpected twist at the end, it made me go through everything that I had witnessed and see it from another perspective. It now all made sense and the snobs had gone from pretentious snobs to loaded restaurateur snobs. A whole different category and one that can be more tolerated.

The moral of this story is to never judge a book by its cover. Perception can always be distorted. The wise man holds off on an opinion until he knows all of the facts.

Happy Days

A long time has passed since my last blog, and I can only apologise to my readership that has become dependent upon my words. We have missed the Olympics and the start of the football season, both of which would have received comment by me if we had been there. But unfortunately we are where we are, and there is no point going back over old ground. A regret in my life that I will always carry with me, like a burden upon my soul.

I feel as though I must offer some explanation for my absence. As you may know, I have two young children and this means that I do not have the spare time that once, as a youth, I had. I have decided that the novel I am writing deserves more perseverance than this journal of rants, and so I have dedicated more time to that. Therefore, due to my limited time, this blog has suffered. I now have a weekend morning to myself again though (the last one since my last blog two months ago) and I would be a mere shadow of the man I thought I was if I was to neglect you further.

You have, however, caught me in a mood of optimism about life and the journey that we are all on. I am very much in the frame that life is what you make of it, and so therefore I am attempting to whinge about things less and look on the positive of all situations more. Although this is hard in a society where I have been conditioned to whinge about even the weather, and to look positively is a lost art. I heard a quote the other day which I thought backed up my new philosophy, “There is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes.” Everything is about perception in life, what appears bad at first is only different to what you had expected initially. If you think of things as bad, then it will be a self fulfilling prophesy and turn out bad, but vice versa, think of things as good and watch the results pick up.

A perfect example of this happened to me last weekend. We have been told by a number of people to go to a disability play group every other Saturday, as it will be good for both Sophie and Dylan, and also it is run by parents that have been through a lot of what we are experiencing now. So anyway, reluctantly I went along, not particularly knowing what to expect, and also a long way from my comfort zone, but thinking that it will be good for Sophie.

So, we were in there for about 20 minutes introducing ourselves to the parents that had set the group up 7 years ago due to a lack of any kind of facility existing before. Everyone was very nice, and a real spirit was in the room. I started to feel really good about how I can help other people, rather than just what I can get out of it myself. When, all of a sudden, Sophie had a seizure. It was large enough for us to have to administer the rescue drug, and call an ambulance. The ambulance then proceeded to turn up and whisk us off to the Stepping Hilton without delay. Although we felt kind of embarrassed that we had created such a drama, these people had obviously been there before and were the calmest group of people that we have ever experienced in such a situation.

In my new positive framing way of life, I was able to step back from the immediate drama and contemplate how bad this really was. Obviously, it is different to how the script would have been written, and it is not the path of least resistance, but there are a lot of positives to the situation as well. While it is going on and you are involved in the heat of the moment, nothing else matters in life. Existence becomes very simple and you only have one thing to think about. It is very real, and brings out an almost primal instinct in you to save a loved one. Your confidence grows and you do the right thing naturally.

The downside to this type of event, and I feel I must give you a balanced view, is that after the initial shock is over, one has time to contemplate on all of life’s mysteries. This is when it is hard to remain completely positive. But it was not as bad this time around.

We will continue to go to the ABC Group, as they are known, and continue to help others that need it. It is something that I would probably have never been involved with if my life had not taken this route, but now it has and I have accepted it, I am happy with it. I also want to be involved with fundraising, and any other way that I can give my time to helping others. I am in a fortunate position, but it will only be realised if I do something with it. I have one friend that went to Romania to help with the orphan situation, another that teaches less fortunate children maths in his lunchtime, and another that gave football training to Down syndrome kids. The most that I have ever contributed is a bit of money that I could afford to give away. I think these people are inspirational and I want to be a bit more like that.

Anyway, it is all good at the moment, and hopefully I will not leave it so long before my next update. Happy Days!!

Cafe Culture

The weather is absolutely glorious at the moment while I am writing this blog. I am sat outside a coffee shop in Heaton Moor with the sun in my face enjoying the continental atmosphere. I imagine that this would be the life of a writer. Sat in the sun, watching the world go by, and using your imagination to get lost in a made up world. I cannot think of any better way to spend my life, but I will have to see what destiny has in store for me. At the moment I sit in an office all day, with no windows, and never use my imagination. My imagination is like an under used muscle, and when I sharpen it it works a lot better, but I rarely get the chance.

I have had quite a nice week in the mainly sunny weather. I travelled to Cambrdige on Wednesday and that is a lovely place to visit, especially in the sun.

The punts were travelling past on the water that was reflecting the ancient images of architecture in the truest sense of the word. The place has an atmosphere of learning, obviously this is expected due to the fact that it is one of the worlds leading university towns. But, in the summer when most of the full time students are back at home in summer jobs, the place is full of overseas students experiencing the English culture.

It makes the whole place buzz in the same way that Barcelona does, it feels as though anything is possible if you would only apply your mind to it. Which of course I was the embodiment of due to the fact that I wanted to eat, and after putting my mind to it, I found an Italian restaurant and succeeded.

I sat in the restaurant on my own watching the hordes of revellers walking past from my al fresco vantage point. I began to think of dear old blighty and how it is subtley changing, away from the focus of the media.

The papers have you believe that knife crime is threatening to obliterate the entire youth generation. Benefit fraudsters and immigrants are fighting in the streets, and turf wars are developing in sunny hamlets.

But I think there is a large sub-culture developing in the small pockets of niceness that we still have left that is evolving into a more cosmopolitan lifestyle of cafe bars and culture.

There is much more opportunity to sit outside now and watch people pass by. Most of these places will still involve you being accosted by some homeless person. However, if you sit and watch people pass by in that type of area then inevitably a contingent of those people will inhibit your voyeur position.

But if you sit in a nice area then the people will respect your position, and like a peacock trying to attract a hen, they will perform for you. All manner of struts and catwalks did I witness in Cambridge, as the beautiful people all went by. Occasionally these were punctuated by the strangers in life, that are usually more interesting to watch.

In Manchester, the strangers are usually smack heads, but in Cambridge they are intellectuals that have blown their minds reading crazy philosophies of paranoia and medieval witchcraft. I saw one guy speaking of the end of the world, which I thought was a cleche but people actually exist, and also a man in a Jester's hat attempting to interest people to come to an evening he was holding.

They were weird but people just tolerated them better than in most places. There was no abuse thrown at them, or chairs, and people just accepted them as part of the free entertainment.

Now I am sat in Heaton Moor, a place literally around the corner from where I live. The ambience is still pretty much the same. The people walking past are a bit more urban, but still the respect is largely still there. This continental approach is helping England become more tolerant and that can only be a good thing.

This writing has been made possible today by Claire and I coming to an arrangement that every weekend we get a morning each to ourselves. I can then use that to write and Claire can use it to do what ever she wants to do. Hopefully this will avoid any arguments that we have had about time to ourselves, and make it better when we are all together.

A Gentlemen's Game

As June begins, it signifies and end to the growth period of spring. The leaves are out, the grass has been freshly cut and leaves the aroma that hay fever sufferers hate, and the new series of Big Brother has begun. Everything is at its most beautiful. It sparkles in the radiant light, and a soft calm falls over everything. Especially at six o’clock at night when the sun is on it’s downhill, sprint finish. Its nights like these that you know your hero likes to partake in a gentle spot of cricket.

Once again I turned out for the Astrazeneca XI, this time pitting my guile against the strong side from KPMG. As they are a team of Auditors they are not the most charismatic of opposition. Most of them are still living with their mother’s, whilst diligently building a fifth track to the Euston Road recreation in the spare room. But they are still an opposition none the less.

This was our first adventure this season, and where the likes of KP would be in the nets all winter, keeping his eye in, I was watching cricket on the telly. So, this meant that at least I still knew the rules. I had a plan though, I would practice for ten minutes before the game and everything would fall back into place.

KPMG could be likened to the Germany of inter-company cricket. As I have mentioned, they are lacking any real bona fide personalities, but they are well turned out, very efficient, and well organised. They needed eleven people and they came with eleven people. They were there to play cricket and so they had their whites on, neatly pressed.

My team however looked like a real ramshackle bunch of misfits compared to this example. For one, we only had nine players. Two were somehow confused about dates, and although clever enough to hold down jobs, a cricket match was obviously one step too far. Secondly, Only five people had whites, and so the rest of us were attired in a mix of relatively light coloured football kits with tracksuit bottoms or shorts. We looked like the prisoners team in Mean Machine as we ran out to take on the guards.

From the beginning it looked bleak, but somewhere under the surface we had an energy waiting to be released. As we elected to bat first from the victorious toss, there was a sense that “Gosh, they couldn’t even win that!” Our Captain and gentleman, walked back to where we had congregated with a steely determination in his eyes, with a message that he knew and no one else did, and it was his job above all else in life to pass that message on. He did this extremely well, and told us that we were batting first.

Then to my surprise he continued by saying that, “Mike is the only recognised batsman here, so he will open.” Until this point I was mucking around at the back of the group doing keepy-ups with a cricket ball, but this put me completely off my stride and made me volley the ball thirty feet away.

It was true that last season I did have some success with the willow, and had retired with maximum score on several occasions. It is also true that near the end I was opening, but I still thought that sooner or later someone would come in that knew what they were doing. My whole philosophy on batting at this inferior level of cricket is to do what ever you are going to do… properly. None of this dangling the bat on the off stump, or hesitantly driving through mid-wicket. No. What you need to do is move your bat like you mean it, because even if you don’t connect with the middle of the bat at least you will put some speed on the ball and hopefully make it harder to be caught. This worked for me a treat last year, and so I eventually rode out to the square joking and laughing and in altogether high spirits. Actually looking forward to hitting the ball in anger and playing cricket.

After the masquerade of asking the umpire for your middle stump on the crease, which at my level is such a waste of time but it is the done thing, I then settled in to the first ball. A medium paced delivery coming down the leg side. I saw it all the way and thought to myself a quick knock through square and off we go.

I played the shot and the next sound I heard was the stumps falling over and the cheers coming from the saddo’s. I’d only gone and played on. I was gutted. First ball, and out. Walking back to the pavilion, I was the receiver of some predictable banter, mostly from my own team and that was it. A year I had been waiting to play cricket, and it lasted less than a minute.

After a reasonably successful innings in the end, of 105 off 20 overs, we then skittled them out for 58 for 9 and it came to the last wicket to end their torture. It ended up getting skied by their number 8 and it went up and up and up, and then it came down and down and down right over my head. This was my chance to redeem myself, and at least finish in style. I took the catch and the game was over. We had hammered them, and for all their whites and organisation we came through victorious with absolutely nothing to do with me.

Cricket is like that. It is an individual game played in a team. There are lots of individual battles that make up the match and if you have a stinker then you have to trust your teammates to do their bit. This time it worked out. Although I don’t know how many more chances I will get at opening if I continue in that form.

Birthday Blitz

I guess that sometimes life isn't always as easy as you think. Sometimes the easiest tasks can cause friction and conflict with others. I never mean to cause offence, or irritate other people but sometimes this happens and I can't then make it instantly better.

Maybe if I can eliminate the frustration in my world, then I will be more tolerant of other views and actions. I am very easily wound up, and I don't really think that I do anything wrong, but I obviously do. I am a peace loving man that spends most of his time at war.

Oh well, anyway. Never mind....

I wrote a blog last week but then I lost it through technical issues, so I will try to recap on the birthday week.

I had to bake a cake for the people at work, and the same recipe was made in the US and Sweden. It was a global celebration of my 31st birthday. The only time that something has happened on this global scale is Live Aid, but I think my birthday even topped that.

The cake was nice and everyone enjoyed it, including the CFO of Astrazeneca who was in our office for the very first time in eight years. Typical.

The rest of my birthday was pretty much uneventful, until at the weekend we went to the Bodyworks exhibition. The German autopsy doctor who is exhibiting his collection of dead people in the Science and Industry Museum in Manchester.

I was expecting it to be quite gory and morbid, but instead it was beautiful. The way he had displayed them in different action poses, showing how the muscles, tendons, nerves and bones all worked together was fantastic. I learnt more in that museum than I ever did in Biology at school.

The strange thing was that the more muscle I looked at, the hungrier I became. It was like a load of meat laid out on a table before a barbecue, and I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into it.

I don't think I could actually become Hannibal Lector, but I may understand cannibalism a bit more. I think that is the test between a psychopath and a normal person, we all have urges but most of us can control them.

We then went to the nearest beach we could find which was Formby just north of Liverpool. It was a lovely beach full of sand dunes, and forests. Also, because it wasn't that sunny, it was nicely empty and you could appreciate the natural beauty more.

I was given a filter coffee machine for my birthday and so since then I have been wired on black coffee. I am sure I have had illegal substances in the past that give a similar feeling to this, but this is legal. Isn't it funny how in our society we have something’s that are legal and something’s that are illegal, and it just depends on a subjective view. Two of our biggest killers in the UK are Cigarettes and Alcohol, not the Oasis song, and both of these are legal. Strange.

The kids have been brilliant this week, with no dramas to speak of except a small incident with Dylan and a hot cup of tea. But this was a storm in a teacup, literally. (Comedy Gold)

I think sometimes happiness is in front of everyone, but for some reason we can't see it all of the time. Like a man in a dark room trying to find the light switch. Sometimes you just are happy, and sometimes you are searching for it. But it's always there, in front of you, you just need to look at it in a different way.

There's a lot mentioned in the media about happiness and what the secret to it is, as if it is the Holy Grail, and must involve a life’s study and exploration. Instead happiness is part of life. You have to be content with what you have, and not strive for the unattainable. You must challenge yourself, but do not punish yourself for failure. And accept that everything changes and things are not always perfect. Also, an argument is like a prison cell, and the longer you are in it so the walls get higher.

Peace.

Strange Days

Occasionally one finds themselves dropped in to some surreal situation, where they cannot really work out how they happened to be there or how exactly it would end. This happened to me last Friday when I found myself in one of the Executive Vice Presidents offices of AstraZeneca with my arm round them.

First of all may I just say that this was at their request not mine, and yours truly will not be having any charges made against him, or restraining orders slapped down.

The VP in question is leaving, after single handedly ruining our department and the morale of a reasonably professional team, and moving to a terrible posting as the President of the Portugal Marketing Company. Obviously everyone's hearts we're bleeding as they heard this news, and the sense that she would be sorely missed was present in everyone's minds. The fact that she had justified a collection of £16 amongst 60 people speaks louder than any way I could describe it.

So, we gathered on her last day to celebrate the passing of one of our times great leaders, and we stood there and listened to the drivel that was subjected at us, almost like a medieval collection of jesters that were gathered before their Queen.

After she had been presented with her gift of a build your own board game, and wait for it, a set of crystal wine glasses (how did these come out of £16) the surreal times started to begin. Either Harry Potter had just cast a money spell, or her PA had somehow robbed a jewellers. Either option is quite unbelievable, and I started to feel as though I was draped off of a tree in Salvador Dali's much celebrated "Time".

In the end, we tramped back to our desks like an army of ants going back to the hill, and put our noses back on the grindstone. Only to be interrupted again by her PA stating that the VP would like a picture in her office with the "Team".

Well, considering that 90% of us had never been her office before, the fact that she was going to compose a picture of her team all around her desk was most definitely conjuring up a slightly distorted view of reality. But we obeyed, as we can still hear the cries of those that haven't obeyed in the past, and we all walked into her office.

We all lined up on either side of her, and I was picturing the camera being an AK47 and we were in an execution party, but there was no room for the second in charge. Oh, no, what to do.

It was okay, he immediately dropped to his knees in a manner that gave away that he had probably done that before in this office, and we continued. A couple of shots were taken and we started to disperse.

"Everyone stay for one more, but this time lets put our arms round each other."

At this point, I was struggling to keep it together, and so it all happened in a blur. I was thinking of The Office and David Brent's unfortunate manner, while all around me people were putting their arms around the person next to them in a sign of solidarity. We all managed to grasp each other, and I even had my fingertips on the Queen Bee, but No. 2 was still on the floor with no one to clutch. So he ended up with his two hands aloft either side of him with the people nearest him holding a hand each.

We resulted in looking like the end of a West End musical, in the Vice Presidents office. I wonder if the market investors have any knowledge of this Carry On Corporate that goes on in the 8th largest company in the FTSE100. I doubt it.

Hopefully that photo will be framed somewhere in Lisbon, to remind her of the day that she had friends, even if it was for only a minute.

Also, I just want to mention another completely surreal news story this week, involving Ronaldo. For those of you that have been living in a cave at the bottom of the Great Barrier Reef all week, he has won the Premiership and the Champions League with Manchester United but could now move to Real Madrid.

It is stated that he currently earns a pittance of £100k a week, but now Real Madrid are rumoured to be offering £300k a week after tax. Obviously the loyalty that he should give Man United for nurturing him into the Best Player in the World is non existent, and who can blame anyone for not being able to live on £100k a week!!

At what point does the amount of money that you make become irrelevant. What more can Ronaldo do with £300k a week, that he cannot do now. I am baffled by the amounts that footballers earn. £75m over 3 years. He could be injured for them all. Strange days.

Pills, Thrills and Bellyaches

It's been a month since l last wrote a blog entry and you're hero has been found discovering the new world, going on holiday, and another hospital adventure. But first things first... the saints just survived on the last day of the season. We were down 3 times on the last day but we somehow managed to escape. I have whinged about the current state of English football before but there is no harm in having another rant.

The whole game is now about money. Saints find themselves without any, at a time when all other clubs have gone past them. In the space of four years we have dropped from 8th in the Premiership and the FA Cup Final to nearly relegated from the Championship. In the same period we have witnessed Portsmouth travel in the opposite direction, not due to organic growth, or an amazing crop of youngsters brought through from the Academy, but through money.

If you can’t beat them then join them. This has been the problem that Saints have faced. No-one who has been in charge of Southampton has been able to find any investment for a club who have a new stadium, one of the best Academies in the country, and a proven support base if we were back in the Premiership. Portsmouth have millions due to a Russian fisherman, and yet the club remains lacking in all of these three areas. How can Southampton not attract any investment?

A millionaire now owns every single Premiership club, and bank rolled by them. Also, every club has been taken over in the last 5 years. This is the ever-changing face of English football. Loyalty has been replaced by a P&L, and the players who jump around clubs because their agent tells them to have reflected this.

Until we are taken over, the reality unfortunately will be one of survival in the Championship. Without money we cannot buy a team to compete consistently with those that can buy the better players. West Brom and Stoke who have both spent quite enough over the last year have both been promoted. We could rely on organic growth to get ourselves out of the quagmire but if you need examples of why this will not work then cast your mind back to Walcott, Bridge, Bale, Baird. All have played for their countries before they were 20 and all came through the Academy at Southampton. Unfortunately they also left Southampton for MONEY as soon as they could. Surman will be the next to go.

I am aware of how bitter this rant sounds and how envious of other clubs we are, but this stems from the frustration of having clubs like Hull, Stoke, and Bristol City overtake us. The final word on this subject is that we need someone to buy us, and then we can look to the future.

And breathe….

I travelled to the US a few weeks ago for work. I flew into Philadelphia and was then whisked away to the international city of Wilmington in Delaware. In the 3 days that I spent there I have come to the conclusion that it is a town on one road with big blocks on either side that are only differentiated by the corporate logos on the outside. It is as if God, after building most of the world like an elaborate model railway, then came to Wilmington and used Lego to knock it up in a few hours.

Having said that, one observation that I made was that it was all very comfortable. The corridors and doorways are massive, probably due to the oversized nature of its inhabitants, and the facilities all around you are designed for comfort and ease. The bed was big and soft, compared to the average hotel bed in Europe, which is usually quite hard. It would be quite easy to sink in to a Wilmington life where you feel protected by a big cotton wool ball and forget about the problems that are being faced in other areas of the world.

The news channels are all local, the newspapers are all local, and I found it quite tricky to find out the Champions League scores when I was there. You can live in a bubble, and only be interested in the immediate events directly in front of you. The people at work, who spent most of the time talking about local issues, echoed this behaviour. This is culturally very different to anywhere I have been in Europe, or major cities in the US. It is a much more provincial attitude, that has not been affected by the rapid globalisation of other areas in the world.

I personally think that this way of thinking is out dated and the world has changed too much for vast areas of civilisation, like the US, to ignore it. I also think that too much the other way is also a bad thing, where people have no understanding of what is around them and cannot connect with communities. A middle ground must be found where an awareness of the Macro issues affecting the world are juxtaposed with the tolerance and understanding of local communities. But there you go, that was my assessment of Wilmington.

While I was out there I met Pete, and we had a few drinks, a meal and eventually spent the night together. This was all above board, and the tache from previous entries has been shaved off. Wilmington is only a couple of hours away from Baltimore, where Pete lives, and so he crashed at the hotel and then went straight to work the next morning.

Unfortunately on my last day, Sophie was taken into hospital due to another seizure, and so while I was on my way home the wheels were set into motion for the “worst case scenario” plan. While Claire is on her own, it is obviously hard to look after Dylan as well as Sophie in hospital. So the cavalry were called and everything went smoothly. Sophie came out the next day and everything was fine.

Last week we escaped to Centreparcs in the Lake District. If you have never been it can be compared to a village in the woods, where trees hide nearly all other lodges and dwellings, and you have the sense of being secluded. It is very peaceful, but also has a great indoor swimming pool and Spa centre. The kids loved the swimming, and the playgrounds, and we loved the Spa centre. We went with Chan and Woody and their kids, and all had a good time.

Halfway through the week Dylan caught a bug, probably from licking every surface he could get his tongue near, and so he wasn’t very happy for a couple of days. This then made us nervous of Sophie catching it, but luckily she avoided it and there was no major catastrophe. One day we may be able to go away and not worry about the worst thing that could happen, but at the moment we are still being proved right a lot of the time.