Back in our footloose and fancy free days, Mr. TheBoyandMe and me did a decent amount of travelling on our holidays. Most of the time it was for long weekend breaks in European cities, as I am a bit rubbish on medium/long haul flights, but there were the odd occasion where we flew for over eight hours to either Dubai or to America. Those holidays were amazing, and we were fortunate to get upgrades to premium economy or, in the case of America, first class! Thank you Virgin Atlantic!

However, one thing that I decided from those holidays is that I would not be taking The Boy on any flights until over the age of five years old. I am certinly not condemning anyone who does, but the thought of trying to keep a little one amused on a aeroplane for more than an hour, while stressing that they weren't irritating the less understanding passengers, makes my blood run cold with fear and anxiety! The decision was made to spend The Boy's first holidays in our own country, and I've never regretted it!

We've been on holiday now three times to Dorset, each time with my parents, and hired lovely little cottages by the sea. We tend to stay in the same town each time, the one that my great aunt used to live in, and always always enjoy it. But this year I fancy something and somewhere different. I've been investigating wooden lodges in Cornwall, debating caravans in Devon, staying with friends in the Lake District and I can't decide which one to go for. All I do know is that after last year's holidays with mum and dad (where we argued and were over-ruled on our parenting the entire week), our main holiday this year has got to be different. This is our time to relax, enjoy our surroundings and chill out, bonding as a family.

One of my best memories from my childhood holidays (always spent in static caravans in the South-West of England) is when my dad converted an old transit van into a campervan. It is the only time I have been 'camping', and I'm not sure that one night spent on a camp-site really constitutes camping, but it's the closest I'll ever let myself get to 'roughing it'. Dad had put in a sink, a stove, a table and benches. He'd designed it so that the table dropped down and made a bed which mum, my sister and I slept on, while he slept on the floor underneath. I remember every single elbow in my face (from my sister), every pelt of rain on the window, and every bleat from the camp-site goat, and this was over twenty-five years ago!

The idea of a campervan or mobile home really appeals to me though. Not a caravan which wobbles, but something that can be static but easily moved to another location. Just packing everything up and moving to another beach, another farm, another county really excites me. I have such twitchy feet on holiday that one time when we stayed in Barcelona (for five nights) we stayed in two different hotels! I don't like the idea of being stuck somewhere unpleasant. With a motorhome you could change your surroundings, and chase the weather, so easily.

I know that things aren't quite as easy as all that though, there's maintenance to be had on any vehicle and a motorhome is no different. Tax, MOTs, general services and motorhome insurance are all things that need to be taken into consideration. However, what a fabulous pipe-dream for me to have? And when I win the lottery this weekend, I will indeed be investigating the swishiest motorhome that I can find!