A few years ago my DH and I spent Christmas in a hotel in Ilfracombe on the north Devon coast. And so on Boxing Day morning we set off on a three hour trek along a coastal footpath with the Atlantic Ocean crashing on the shore far below. It was a cold but beautiful day and we thoroughly enjoyed it. We ended up at a tiny pub with open fires and a festival atmosphere. But I couldn't face the thought of another three hour walk back - it's not as though it was all on the level - so we returned to our hotel by taxi. It was an experience I shall never forget, though. Our one and only time when Christmas hasn't been spent with the family.
And why am I thinking of Christmas when summer is on the horizon? When my H&H are in sunny Spain? I just love looking at old photographs, though, don't you?
