By Claire Webb
"My childhood holidays were spent in Millport on the Isle of Cumbrae, just off Scotland’s western coast. It was everything you’d expect of a beach holiday in Scotland – freezing temperatures, getting stung by jellyfish and avoiding the sewage outlet as you tried to swim in the sea. If there was a glimpse of sun, there was an imperative to put your trunks on even if it was pretty miserable. But that’s what childhood memories are all about isn’t it? I loved it.
Even though my older brother and sister were there most years, I used to go off on my own for hours to climb over rocks looking for crabs. There was lots of cycling as well. Cumbrae is such a small island that you can get around it in about an hour. I came off my bike once in the high street and cut my head open. I was unconscious for a while and then I started talking gibberish. I remember waking up in a tiny country hospital having no idea where I was.
As we got the ferry to Cumbrae every year, I’d never been on a plane until my family decided to go to some awful package destination in Majorca. In my mind, people who went abroad visited mythical lands where they wandered around in their underwear, turning lobster pink by the end of the first day. It rained every single day we were in Majorca. It was a bit of a disappointment to finally visit one of these mythical lands only to discover that the weather was better at home.
These days I don’t really see the point of holidays. I never quite know what you’re supposed to do. It changes a bit when you’ve got kids but I’m very happy staying at home and pottering around. I’m away so much for work that when I’ve got time off I just want to stay in London."