Day three: By now I’ve carefully scanned my surroundings and know what to expect. I instantly feel a lot better about our little holiday and decide I can enjoy myself. Go me. “Our very own Terrible Two and the littlest one (6 months) need to see the petting zoo”, the girlfriend proclaims. And so it happens. Apparently millions of other pram-pushers had the same idea. There is a gigantic pig, baby goats, a cow, the lot. Afterwards we go back to the cottage and boldly announce we don’t mind taking the kids to the swimming pool while mum and dad go to the sauna. We must be idiots. Everything goes rather well though. We have dinner in a “restaurant” and the Terrible Two really goes for it “NO! I want chips!”. When I phone my dad to wish him a happy birthday he tells me he’s been feeling a bit down. I feel guilty.

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