Quick trip to the UK with Dylan to investigate narrowboats and help a running coach friend set up a ‘garden shed’ YouTube/remote coaching studio, also to do some running of course… on the hottest UK Bank Holiday weekend on record.

Hire car from Heathrow to our first night’s stop at The Olde Coach House Inn in the picture-book village of Ashby St Ledgers, near Daventry - a nice country pub with decent food, and a wonderful summer beer garden.

Sun-dappled dawn run around the area next morning, then off to the Crick Boat Show, plenty of narrowboats on show and thousands of people (and their dogs, lots of dogs). We were there to get a feel for types of boat fit-outs and prices, with a view to maybe buying a small boat in the coming years as a UK touring option for summer travel. Decided a very small boat, such as the quirky aluminium Sea Otter range, would be closest to the ‘campervan on wheels’ vibe we’re after.

Managed to create an incident on arrival. They were parking the stream of cars up in a large field, and having taken our space I managed to drop our hire car key a few yards from where we parked. Once I realised and we started looking, cars were already parking over the route we’d taken from the vehicle, covering the search area. Most of them kindly reversed out again while we looked, but it was panic stations for a few minutes before Dylan spotted the keys in the grass behind the one car whose owner had left before we got the chance to ask them to let us search underneath it. Panic over!

Gorgeous weather, plenty of canal boats and people (and nearly as many dogs) and overall, lots of food for thought.

Boat research done, next overnight stay was in the Bunk Inn in the small village of Curridge in the North Wessex Downs - a friendly place with nice building and rooms, but hassled staff and decidedly average food - where I had time to squeeze in an early morning (and unexpectedly hilly) run. Then it was off to visit my running coach friend Shane, via the tolled Whitchurch Bridge across the Thames, costing all of 60p to cross but still apparently the most expensive toll bridge in Europe when calculated by the metre. We were visiting to help him improve his YouTube/remote coaching game by installing proper lighting, camera, audio and green screen video in his garden studio. Was fun to solve problems and get him confident with his new workflow, and it looked and sounded amazing when we were finished. That shed was hot in the heatwave, though.

We then all headed to the local playing field where Dylan had a crash coaching session with Shane, learning how to accelerate faster in his position as defender in his football team, getting tips on running smarter off the ball, and learning how to add speed without extra effort. It was truly hot though, and Dylan quickly felt sick with all the running, so we were pleased for the car aircon after.

Was a nice change to run in the sunshine but in verdant, quiet England rather than dusty, noisy, polluted Gibraltar.

Next a flying visit to my Dad’s to support him best we could at a difficult family time. We all caught the end of the football season, Manchester United’s Bruno Fernandes achieving most assists in a season by any player in the Premiership era and Tottenham staying up at the expense of West Ham (sorry, Dad). Then a quick Chinese meal in the garden and our final night in the huge, airport-adjacent Crowne Plaza hotel at Winnersh (it’s all about the buffet breakfast).

Was great to spend time with Dylan and see my Dad, but the weekend also got me thinking hard about how educators should best be using YouTube in the age of AI. I found myself comparing the approaches of traditional YouTuber influencers like the runner Ben Parkes with more specialised/innovator types like my friend Shane, for whom the mainstream influencer route would be a distraction. No answers, but authenticity, real stories and having a proper plan/goal for a channel seem increasingly important, and also actually having something to say - otherwise content runs the risk of getting too ‘meta’. All food for thought…

Our joint end-of-April trip to Boston to run the marathon was our first real trip away together without the kids since we’ve had them, and our first joint race since Barcelona in 2010. And it’s fair to say we were excited.

As we crossed the border and began our trip to Málaga airport, Faye phoned the local radio station to enter a competition to win some cupcakes from our favourite bakery, A Piece of Cake. We didn’t win the cakes - but we did get a decent shout out, which definitely added extra cheer to the morning.

Talking of shout outs, let’s give one to the Aer Lingus crews we encountered outbound - for all the wrong reasons. They were bad on the first, short flight to Dublin, cheerfully informing us there would be no food at all on board with zero apology, but even worse on the long haul, with clear disregard for paying anything other than lip service to their jobs. Noisy, rude, inattentive. Worse, they cheerfully fed Faye her pre-order gluten-free meal, which clearly contained both pasta and bread! When we pointed this out, they gruffly swapped it, again with no apology. Poor.

We were pretty exhausted by the time we arrived in America, managing to leave possessions both on the plane and in the taxi, and frankly unable to communicate with the poor girl at check-in. It was almost comical. Couldn’t get to bed quickly enough.

Role call in the hotel reception just before heading out for the buses to take us to the start line - Tim, Mark, Faye, Brad, Phil.

We were staying dead central in Chinatown at the (frankly extortionately priced) Courtyard by Marriott Hotel. As we were pretty much opposite the Wang Theatre, this meant we got to see the relative popularity of what was on there. Some nights it seemed packed with people who’d come to see comedians/acts/singers we’d never heard of, but one night on our way home we noticed with some amusement that Michael McIntyre was playing there. It looked like they definitely had tickets left and we were tempted for a second, but once we remembered that we actually turn the TV over when his show is on, we thought better of it. (Sorry, Michael.)

Meeting the crew

Our first full day in Boston had us meeting up properly with friends Brad, Sharon and later Mark, spending time at the Marathon Expo (where we also met up with fellow Gibraltar resident and marathoner, Tim). We obviously all purchased expo swag, including the obligatory Boston Marathon jackets, and also caught some of Ashley Paulson’s amazing 100-mile treadmill world record attempt, which she’d later succeed in breaking. Faye in particular was very interested in the ‘Buzz Bomb’ under-the-tongue caffeine powder wraps they were giving out at the attempt and which appeared to be fuelling Paulson, and she vowed to use one at mile 20 of the marathon.

The official Boston 5k pre-marathon run was in full swing as we were visiting the expo, with thousands of runners on closed streets and huge support - what would the real marathon feel like, if this was just the preamble? We did get to have our own taster of running around Boston the next day (the day before the marathon) when we all joined a ‘pop-up’ 5k shakeout run, organised by the people from The Marathon Podcast and one of the ‘runfluencers’ Faye follows on Instagram, Coach Megan Cooke. It was fun to run in a pack and see another side of the city.

Phil & Tim in the starting pen just before our race began. It was cold…

Weather for the whole stay was cold but mercifully the wind wasn’t too bad and the sun was out a lot of the time, with only a few showers. We were enjoying walking around the city centre, especially on Boston Common, which is a proper city park. We found Boston to be as we remembered from Faye’s marathon 11 years ago - a bite-sized and definitely European-feeling city, with its warehouses, grand colonial buildings and dockyards. It feel as much Liverpool as America.

Carb loading

By this point we were well into 48 hours of taking the carb loading very seriously indeed. We’d basically hit a routine of wandering around the city, finding somewhere to eat and drink, and from that place, planning the next place where we were going to eat and drink. We were topping up by eating pre-cooked Tilda rice out of the bag, cold - not to be recommended as a culinary experience to be quite frank. Only later did we discover the microwave by the ice machine on our floor in the hotel, which would have improved things immeasurably.

Better were our Chinese, Thai and Japanese meals out, and we also became regulars at a breakfast place called Cafe Bonjour, where we had excellent traditional American (not French) breakfasts most mornings at 7am, just before it got busy. However, the one day when we got there late, they told us it was a 40-minute wait, which we endured in the cold and rain. Tragedy turned to comedy as they called out party names that sounded like my name (‘Jill!’) and the time slipped to 40, 50 minutes, an hour… at one point they said ‘one second’ - we had literally made it to the inner door at this point - only for us to have to stand around for a further 10 minutes while they continued to sort things out. However, it was all worth it, and it was to be the place we’d have our final meal together before parting at the end of our time in Boston.

The marathon itself was immense, and you can read all about how Phil got on here and how Faye got on here.

Well-earned pancakes for Faye the day after the marathon.

After the utter high of marathon day, we did encounter a sobering sight on our final morning. A whole block was cordoned off by the police with several cars and an ambulance and what was clearly a body in the road covered up by plastic. We shuddered and took another route. Later that day we took a ‘duck tour’ on a tourist bus which turns into a boat in order to give us a loop of Boston Harbour. The guide was an amusing chap and it was genuinely fascinating to be shown where the fighting kicked off between the British and the colonialists, and to be told several times we were driving over parts of Boston that had been reclaimed from the sea.

The DOMS report

The ultra runners among us appeared to be coping OK with fatigued legs, even - in Faye’s case - heading out the next day for a run. But for the mere mortals, the Marathon’s infamous hills had really hit our quads hard, making any walking - but especially downstairs, into the metro for instance - excruciating. It was ‘good pain’ though, and it was fun to take the metro to the airport on the way home rather than a taxi as we had on our way in, which had been a traffic-choked, mainly underground tunnel experience. We were certainly sad to see friends peeling off in ones and twos for onward journeys until it was our turn, and we weren’t really looking forward to the red eye flight back to Dublin then Málaga, although this time the crews were better, and they had managed to get some food on board, well done folks.

Boston is definitely one of the great marathons, it gave us an unforgettable (very) long weekend away, and the people were amazing from start to finish. It was an incredible experience - one to remember forever, for sure.

We have for over a decade had a property in Estepona, 45 minutes’ drive east towards Malaga from our Gibraltar base. This may be the last year we own it as we’re thinking of selling up due to spending more time in the campervan and less time having ‘static’ holidays and breaks over the border. Thus our downtime spent there this week was poignant and full of memories, as we enjoyed the big real fire, the views across the bay to Gibraltar, and the imposing Los Reales mountain looming down on us, as ever, at the back (which I ran up once - another story!).

The weather was a mix of torrential rain and storms (we actually got official alarm warnings sent to our mobile phones from the Spanish authorities), biting winds, cold mornings but also patches of warm sunshine with some calm afternoons and the chance to soak up a bit of sun - as I say, a real mix. Of course we ran, but managed to walk the dog most days too, even though it was pretty muddy on the campo at the back - it’s all about to be built on, so change is a-coming.

Gibraltar gas works, circa 1900. We all did our bit, including a late night session by the kids after the rest of us were in bed.

The big indoors star of our very relaxed few days was a 1000-piece jigsaw of Gibraltar gasworks circa 1900, which we cracked open soon after my stepdad and his partner, David and Janet, arrived to visit on Boxing Day, and which we finished with some effort just before they left for home on 30th December - so much sky to fill out! However, we did enjoy it (we’re really not board game people, so this activity makes a good replacement) and we’ve decided to get one every year, wherever we are, from now on. A new Christmas tradition, to add to our Christmas Eve curry, Christmas Day tiramisu, and ‘smallest Christmas tree we can find’ (basically, a fridge magnet this year).

With a van full to the brim with food, presents, clothes, people and animals, we bumped back to Gibraltar on 30th December, ready for 2026, kind of…

The Running

Running together as the sun rose on our final day in Estepona.

My runs were strictly all recovery following the Malaga marathon, with my HRV still off-kilter, my Garmin stuck on a training status of ‘strained’, and my legs moaning at anything past easy pace. I did have a new HRV-600 heart rate monitor to play with though, which is going to help me measure and improve my running economy on my next training block. I ticked off an 8k recovery run east along the promenade, followed by an almost identical 9k recovery run a day later, and yet another on the same route two days after that, before mixing things up with a coast & hills 13k and finally a longer-than-advised 16k coastal run with Faye and our friend Yael who was staying nearby - obviously with all the inevitable catching up, this longer distance run actually flew by.

Faye, meanwhile, was piling on the distance overall - and then some. She did 18k in a part 1 with strides and a wet part 2, a 26k medium-long west towards San Pedro de Alcantara, a Christmas Day 16k, a Boxing Day 24k, and a 16k recovery before joining Yael and myself for our group run. (For good measure, on our return to Gibraltar, on 31 December she headed out for a 50k long run, setting a PR on that distance and taking her to 5,000km for the year. That’s ultra runners for you!)

The idea of this half-term mini-break was a ’lads and dads’ bonding trip, and Dylan and I had chosen to return to the canals and locks of England having enjoyed it so much in July, this time inviting my friend Gareth and his son Robert to accompany us. And so we found ourselves flying into Birmingham on a blustery late-October afternoon, taking a short Uber ride to Alvechurch Marina on the Worcester & Birmingham Canal, and boarding the Common Swift, our 50ft narrowboat home for the next four nights.

Pulling out from the marina (’turn left for Birmingham’) into the rapidly fading light, I was acutely aware that - despite a bit of experience at this - this was my first time skippering a boat, and I did feel a little nervous. However as we tied up outside the Hopwood House pub an hour later for a lovely family meal with Roy and Lynda (who’d also gamely offered to bring our shopping for us), I felt quietly confident we had it in us.

The wet didn’t dampen spirits as we got to grips with skippering the boat on a lock-free morning, the boys staying dry in the cabin.

Day two started wet. We headed straight into the Wast Hills tunnel, an eerie 1.5 mile straight slog underground, the arches of light marking the entrance and exit barely visible at either end once we were properly in. With some drum & bass blasting, it felt like going from the English countryside right into a dystopian nightclub! Emerging from the tunnel back into the rain, and now with full waterproofs on, we headed east on the the Stratford-Upon-Avon Canal for a lock-free morning of cruising, with just a substantial fallen tree blocking the canal to deal with, before a quick tie-up for lunch.

The afternoon brought the end of the rain, which was just as well as we had all 19 Lapworth Locks to descend, and a (luckily more than game) new crew to teach. They took to it quickly though, and it wasn’t long before we were joining the Grand Union Canal and turning north, where we tied up for the night in the dying light, for a quick tomato pasta supper and a game of Risk (Robert won, for the record).

A game of Risk rounded off a busy first full day of cruising.

It was now that we made ’the decision’. Sally at the boatyard had warned us against this plan, convincing us it was impossible due to the lack of daylight hours at this time of year. But, weighing up our progress so far, we decided otherwise. The idea was that rather than pressing on for a bit before turning around to return the way we’d come, we would instead push up into city centre Birmingham, heart of the canal network, before returning by another route, completing the so-called ‘Birmingham Mini Ring’. However, to achieve it we’d have to set off very early - half an hour before sunrise. We were up for it!

Gareth and myself, morning brews in hand, as we headed off at sunrise for a challenging day to get to Birmingham city centre by sunset.

So it was that day three started with a chilly cruise north as the weak winter sun rose into a red sky, and an early ascent through the five stunning Knowle Locks, the only boat on the move, just as had been the case the day before. Apart from one half-empty lock pound that threatened to ground us, we emerged without incident, and from there it was a picturesque cruise through the village of Catherine de Barnes and on, westward now, through Solihull and the rapidly urbanising surroundings. It was here that we had to deal with a delapidated old cruiser that had broken from its moorings and was blocking the canal entirely.

Whoops. Nothing the crew couldn’t sort out with a barge pole, though.

In the city centre now, we negotiated more locks, urban and graffitied this time, and were joined by my stepdad David, who arrived tooled up with his personal lock key, ready for action. Passing a small tented homeless city with sweary, agitated inhabitants, we then ascended the famous Farmers Bridge Locks right into city centre Birmingham, and our mooring for the night at Gas Street Basin, surrounded by old boating toll houses, wharfs, stables and pubs - a wonderful location, and a good place to enjoy a well-earned home-cooked vegetable curry. Oh, and we’d completed the ‘impossible’ longest day with two hours of daylight to spare. What do you think of that, Sally?

Ascending the Ashted Locks as we entered city centre Birmingham, tented homeless village behind us and Dylan at the helm.

In truth both full days so far had been a bit too manic, so day four was deliberately planned to be less so. We had a leisurely breakfast, then set off on a self-guided walking city centre treasure trail, that introduced us to the history behind many of the old canal fittings. It took a while though, and we were glad to get out of the rain for a hot chicken roll for lunch. It was then that Dylan pointed out we now had less time than we had been told we needed to get back home this afternoon before dark. Looked like another mission! I downloaded a phone speedometer to help us assess our progress, and we powered south, past the huge Cadburys factory at Bourneville, stopping only once mid-stream to cut much rope and several plastic bags from the prop. Both Robert and Dylan helped with the steering, as we careered back through the Wast Hills tunnel, past Hopwood House, and finally to Alvechurch Marina after sunset and with very little light left. Job done!

Robert getting navigation lessons from Dylan. He took to it quickly and was comfortable and competent by the end.

A Halloween night walk into the village for a chip shop supper ended the day and the mission, and all that was left the next morning was to clean the boat, pack our bags, wolf the rest of the food for breakfast, and grab another Uber back to the airport for the flight home.

It was a great trip - I enjoyed reaffirming my newly rediscovered love of the canals; Dylan proved a competent lock operator and excellent skipper himself; Gareth and Robert enjoyed something completely new to them, with Robert picking up manouevring a narrowboat very quickly indeed; and the lads bonded well, keeping the dads awake with their messing and giggling well into the night more than once. Just how it should be.

Domestic bliss: Gareth and David clearing up after our vegetable curry in Birmingham, at the end of day three.

The running

I intended to run three of the four days we were away, but because of the very early morning starts necessary to complete the ‘mission’ I only managed two; I will have to try to catch us so my current sub-3 hour Malaga Marathon training plan stays on track.

First I did a 24x45 second interval session, 1 minute recoveries, with 3km warm up and cooldown, out and back southwards along the Worcester & Birmingham Canal towpath, which was OK apart from sometimes slowing for bridges, cyclists and muddy leafy sections. Next, on the final morning, I did an even muddier, leafier easy 15km run south from Alvechurch as far as a towpath collapse would let me, then north to the Wast Hills tunnel entrance and back.

I felt OK but as is sometimes the case, the running felt harder than usual with a head full of other things - focusing on running in such distracted circumstances is a skill I’d do well to practise.

Our final stop on the summer’s travels was the only campsite we hadn’t pre-planned, and choosing it reminded us of why we’ve been planning our summers ahead of time recently: You fall into the trap of endlessly swiping on phones for the ‘perfect’ next place to stay, while not enjoying the one you’re at! The irony this time was that when I finally located a site somewhere on the way home that seemed to suit, Faye said, ‘I’m sure we’ve been to that one before.’ I was adamant we hadn’t, because the only site the photos reminded me of was in Portugal, or so I thought - but no, Faye was right, and we had indeed visited this site, four years ago. The good news was that we loved it back then, so we had high hopes.

Our journey to Camping Mirador de Cabañeros, which overlooks the tiny village of Horcajo de los Montes in the province of Ciudad Real and deep in the mountains, was typically larger-than-life. The first hour treated us to sweeping passes through expansive pine forests, before we descended to the ‘plains of Spain’, enduring some decidedly dodgy roads as we did. In one isolated village where we stopped for diesel, a lady who overheard us chatting said: ‘It’s so nice to hear English voices, the first I’ve heard in this village in 40 years.’ Turned out she was a local but she had been spending six months in London every year for a long time, hence her excellent, slightly Americanised, English.

The sun rising over our final campsite. We were heading out to do our runs before sunrise, as it didn’t take long for things to heat up once it did.

At one point on the journey when hunger had got the better of us - and having passed absolutely zero service stations as we travelled over 100km down the emptiest toll road I have ever seen - we went ‘off piste’ to look for anything at all that was open. These escapades usually end in failure, and true to form, this time it felt like the village we’d entered had finished its annual fiesta literally yesterday, judging by the litter blowing around and the bunting strung across its completely empty streets. The sat nav then helpfully decided to take us down unfinished, single track roads through miles of fields before thankfully finally depositing us back on a main road, where we found an open supermarket and ended up eating pre-prepared food off of our laps.

However, all was forgotten once we reached the site. It was a bit older and tattier than we remembered it (we had visited on its first year of opening), but still friendly, well run and with all the things we like present and correct, namely a great swimming pool (semi-covered, warm, and more importantly, with no closing time), amazing views, spacious and breezy pitches, and a good restaurant. We took the same plot we’d had four years ago, and had our meal that evening in the restaurant watching the red sun set through a dusty haze, the village below cocooned by the hills, lit by glowing streetlights, and serenaded by countless crickets.

Faye spotted some warthogs on her long run, something neither of us can remember having seen before on our journeys.

The following few days were spent acclimatising to the full-on Spanish heat, which was well into the thirties with very little wind. That meant Faye and I did our running very early, starting before sunrise. I did an over & under 200s interval session and an easy trail run, both on empty hilltop tracks. Meanwhile Faye did an epic 31km trail run where she got told off for heading into gated territory, and then rounded up her 100km week with an easy 15km road run. It also meant that the kids got into the habit of heading back to the pool for the third time each day when it was dark, after dinner, for a final cool-off.

Aside from all of that, and apart from trips down into the village for essentials, we did as little as possible that involved anything physical, entertaining ourselves on our pitch. One day two Spanish kids asked if they could show us some card tricks. It must have inspired Maya because she improvised some tricks of her own with Uno cards, showing some flair for it, and has since found a pack of real cards and continued to teach herself more magic to show us. Maya also amused us by constructing various contraptions using rocks, sticks, a bottle of water and a water pistol as she attempted to trigger a sequence of events designed to end in a stone being catapulted. She didn’t quite succeed, but got some funny slow motion videos of her attempts. Meanwhile, towards the end of each day, Dylan was finding the energy to head down into the village, phone in hand, to capture Pokémon in various ‘raids’, excited to show us his ‘haul’ when he returned.

Card games, reading, music, and dozing off (in my case) were the order of the day as the temperatures climbed to the 30s each day.

We had a restaurant meal on the final night, then next morning said a slightly emotional goodbye to the staff (who now felt like friends), and headed off. The girls both felt pretty car sick for most of the journey, but perked up a little as we wolfed down jumbo bags of crisps, Haribos and Cokes en route, and by mid-afternoon we had successfully bombed it back to our second home in Estepona, a stone’s throw from Gibraltar. Now it was time to unwind for a few days, enjoy the existence of this thing called air con, and do all the jobs that have to be done at the end of such a trip, like deep cleaning the van and all its contents. This final staging post also gives us a chance to get our heads around the final four months of the year, the pace of which always hits us quite hard at the end of a summer of leisurely travel. It all starts tomorrow, when we return to Gibraltar and daily life.

UK heatwave! The mercury rose rapidly as we left the Lake District for the trip down south to spend a night down at my Dad’s in Bracknell, arriving mid-afternoon in broad sunshine. We spent the evening sat in the garden catching up, before a wonderful, huge dinner with chicken and potatoes plus multiple home-made dessert options (chocolate cake! tiramisu! lemon drizzle cake!). We certainly felt looked after, with stepmum Christine’s Irish family feeding instinct kicking in.

After a very warm night, next day we all headed for lunch to the beer garden of The Cricketers in nearby Warfield which was lovely, the way an English country pub should be, lacking only the thwack of leather on willow from some distant village green to complete things. We very much enjoyed our meal and the chance to spend more catching up time together, and we all rose above the decidedly anti-social barman who only reluctantly let us pair two tables in order to fit everyone on, then point blank refused to own up to an error in taking our food order that left us one meal down. One way to make sure you don’t get a tip, I suppose.

Mill Pond in Bracknell in the summer sunshine, a place that hasn’t changed much in the 50 years I’ve known it (ouch!).

Dad had told us about his ’noisy neighbours’ - boisterous, uncontrolled kids next door who live life at high volume and whose football regularly flies over the fence. Apparently they shouted ‘Alexa, play Eminem!’ so loud one time that Dad’s own kitchen radio starting blaring out ear-splitting rap too. As if on cue, on our return a chorus of noise hit us from next door and a ball flew over the fence, Faye returning it. That said, admittedly we did spent the next half hour instructing Dad’s Alexa to produce various types of fart. Well, if you can’t beat ’em…

The cross-country drive down to the ferry terminal at Portsmouth was easy and we took in yet more picturesque villages, many new to us. An attempt at playing pub cricket failed though, through a lack of pubs, many now seemingly converted to takeaways or guest houses. To be honest there was a lack of legs, too - we could have done with The Cricketers again, for sure! Bizarrely on the journey, at one point Faye pointed to a runner and proclaimed, ‘I’m sure I know him!’, confirming later that indeed she did by checking on Strava. Arriving at Portsmouth as the sun set, it was time to board the Brittany Ferries ship for the two-night crossing to Santander - not as long as it sounds as we started very late in the evening and arrived very early in the morning two days later, all without event.

The Pinilla Reservoir at Lozoya in Spain, just as the sun was rising on Faye’s and my morning runs.

The drive from Santander to our next campsite, Camping Monte Holiday near to the tiny village of Gargantilla del Lozoya in the mountains north of Madrid, was again a memorable one, although on a much grander scale than Bracknell to Portsmouth, with big rivers, sweeping switchbacks, fields of sunflowers and panoramic views. As we crossed several remote mountain passes, the temperature climbed from 20 to 32 degrees. Still, Maya had been craving guaranteed sunshine for ’essential’ tanning all summer, so at least we could now promise that to her.

Or could we? Just after a late breakfast on arrival at the spacious hillside campsite, the temperature dropped as a thunderstorm hit, with windy and showery weather all day and into the evening - although bizarrely the temperature rose for a burst of tropical-syle heat as it got dark. The weather was to continue a little bit variable for the rest of our stay here, just on the border of what Maya considers acceptable but in truth, mainly fine.

The little Ermita de Santiago, deep in the dehesa on a trail that both Faye and I ran just outside the village of Gargantilla del Lozoya.

The site itself was great. Huge yet laid back, with a wide variety of accommodation (camping, motorhomes/vans, touring and static caravans, huts, tree houses, glamping), plenty of trees for shade, and a very family feel, with lots and lots of kids of all ages roaming free - a marked contrast to the more couple-oriented and much older demographic of the Bowness site. It was a bit loud as Spain tends to be, but everyone was polite and friendly, and the setting was wonderful, the mountainside location providing impressive hills above and a wide vista south across the valley beneath us.

We also noticed that just about everyone had a dog! Skye definitely got to practise her barking as countless dog/owner combos paraded past the end of our pitch several times a day. One that stood out in particular was a Spanish water dog, same breed as ours, but with a distinctive white and brown long coat and show-off haircut, owned by an equally distinctive woman with striking curly ginger hair, funky clothes and permanent sunglasses - the pair of them made a very cool combo.

Rare pic of me running, taken by Faye as our paths crossed on our morning long runs.

One day Maya and I cycled the 20 minutes or so along a rough dirt track to the village itself in an attempt to get supplies, only to be told by an old lady on her balcony in the town square that the tiny village shop ‘only opens in the morning’. No surprise, really: Gargantilla del Lozoya is a classic semi-deserted Spanish mountain village, with an old church, a diminutive village square, and very little else. Even when later on I cycled on my own to the Coviran supermarket in the bigger nearby town of Lozoya I couldn’t get what we wanted (decent fresh fruit and veg, basically) - we did wonder where people get such things from around here.

We got our answer - at least as far as campers go - on our final day, when a well-stocked fruit and veg market rolled into the campsite offering all manner of fresh produce for sale. However, by the time I got to it the queue was huge and everyone seemed to be buying a week’s-worth of produce, so as we were leaving that day I decided to wait until a supermarket somewhere on our route to stock up. Thank goodness for frozen peas from the campsite shop, a large bag of which had been providing the vegetable content of our meals for a few days by this point.

Family chilling out on the campsite, the sun shining in between the unexpected thundery showers.

Faye and I had been squeezing in some memorable runs throughout this part of the trip. Back in Bracknell, both of us had made use of a favourite from my childhood, Mill Pond, a little oasis of greenery among the houses, with its little mid-lake island populated by cormorants and a convenient 1km run around its perimeter. I’d used it for a challenging tempo session with 1k repeats, Faye for a broken 600s tempo session that she smashed. Meanwhile in Gargantilla del Lozoya, we both headed down the hill to the Pinilla Reservoir in the valley, a huge body of water in comparison to little Mill Pond, where Faye did an 18k easy run, and I did a 23k long block run. The running was great, but there were literally swarms of insects which we unavoidably inhaled/swallowed, and which had stuck to our necks and faces by the time we returned (having had to negotiate a herd of cows blocking our way just outside the campsite). For our next runs we headed the other way towards the village and through the countryside, Faye doing some ascending hill repeats and an easy 10k trail run, and me an easy 11k trail run - there was no avoiding the hills, even if you wanted to.

And so it was time to move on to our final destination of the trip, as we continued our journey south. This time, Maya was certainly going to get her guaranteed sunshine, as we were about to find out…

We wanted to show the kids The Lake District, so we left relaxed Seahouses and headed west, noting the proximity of Hadrian’s Wall just to our north for much of the journey, and the change from fields and trees to more rugged moorland as we drew closer, finally negotiating some narrow country roads to drop down to Bowness. I had drunk one too many coffees that morning, judging by the number of times I had to stop for a ‘can’t wait’ toilet break, too; turns out there are few service stations on the A-roads across the top of the country, so it’s just as well I can do roadsides!

The Bowness Camping & Caravanning Site is right in the heart of the town, tucked just behind the big cemetery and spread out over a large area with wide gravel tracks connecting the various fields. We had got two plots, one for us and one for Roy & Lynda’s motorhome, and we were greeted soon after arrival by our friends André and Anita, who’d come to spend a couple of days nearby to hang out with us. After a catch-up sat around our van’s camping table, we wandered into Bowness to grab ice creams and explore together. It was great to catch up with André and Anita, who had moved from Gibraltar to Bath a few months earlier, and who were excited to tell us that they were heading to Jeremy Clarkson’s Diddly Squat and his The Farmer’s Dog pub on their way home for a meal the next day. We took a lake islands tour with them on one of the big cruisers, and also had a good meal out at The Boardwalk Bar & Grill, giving Roy the chance to quiz André over whether he will now support Bath Rugby as a new resident of the town (thankfully for the bonding process, André answered with an enthusiastic ‘yes!’).

We headed out with our friends André and Anita on one of these boats to get our bearings, the Windermere equivalent of an open-top bus tour.

Windermere and particularly Bowness proved to be a culture shock in more ways than one. Firstly it was so, so busy compared to Seahouses, heaving in fact - it felt like the place was struggling to cope, with rammed pavements, queues for shops and bars, and cars, campervans and coaches everywhere. Also, there was a noticeably large number of British Asian families, literally arriving by the coachload. On top of this, there were lots of foreign tourists, giving the place a decidedly multicultural feel - a marked difference from the older, almost completely white ‘hiker and camper’ demographic I remember from my time here, admittedly 30 years ago. The change was so pronounced that I checked online for Muslim festivals, but it just seemed that nowadays, Windermere is a ‘done thing’ for a whole new section of society.

Right on cue for this summer in the UK, another heatwave had hit on the day of our arrival, the weather staying warm and sunny for most of our stay - it was all people were talking about in the streets, and the queues at the ice cream shops were particularly long. The kids and I cooled down on one afternoon by swimming off of one of those tiny, grassy ‘beaches’ you see dotted around UK lakes, this one just ten minutes’ walk away, at Cockshott Point. The rocks and stones on the bed were rounded but slippy underfoot, so Crocs and sandals were worn, meaning we could wade out until it was deep enough to submerge ourselves. At one point we heard an earsplitting, long yelp, looking up to see a small dog bombing it from the lakeside path away from its owners and into the lake to cool off. No sooner had it done so, having instantly quenched its excitement, it ran back to them and trotted by their side as if nothing had happened. It made everyone jump, but judging by the owners’ lack of reaction, this was not the first time…

What a setting for a travelling fair, right on the lakeside on a picture-perfect village green.

There was a fair in town while we were there, set up on an impossibly picturesque green right on the banks of the lake, dominated by a traditional Ferris wheel. The kids visited it several times, dragging mum along to go on the waltzes with them on one day, and promising to take me too - although sadly it had moved on, Faraway Tree style, by the day I was due to go with them, leaving me waltz-less and Dylan with a pile of fairground tokens in his pocket - he’s been jangling them when bored ever since.

One afternoon we took a self-drive electric boat out onto the lake. Lynda didn’t really enjoy the bobbing around in the wake of speeding boats, the ear-splitting navigation alarm that kept going off arbitrarily to warn us away from non-existent obstances, and - in all truth - the bickering of the Morse family about how best to navigate the thing. So after a short while we dropped her and Roy off (they promptly headed for solace in the nearest bar) and set off by ourselves. We settled into it finally, weaving among the lake’s many islands with Bobby McFerrin’s ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ and Afroman’s ‘Because I Got High’ blasting on the boat’s Blaupunkt speakers. Well-meaning but slightly hooligan - that’s us!

There are over 10,000 licensed powered boats on Windermere, and a further 10,000 unpowered, unlicensed boats, a fact we learned from the commentary on our lake cruise.

Another day, Faye and I took the kids and dog off for a hike, destination: Brant Fell, a small hill with great views over the whole of the lake. Leaving the car park and boatyard that were next to our campsite, we soon headed uphill on ever-smaller lanes and tracks, down overgrown footpaths, and finally through a field of cows and onto the fell to the summit. We saw deer, rabbits, and even a line of five dried-out dead rats, pinned to a barbed wire fence - proof of pest control by farmers, apparently. But best of all was a large flock of sheep, who were tame enough to be right beside us, dog and all, something the kids loved. We don’t go walking enough with the children: This is one they’ll remember. (Oh, and there was a large Orthodox Jewish family at the top, all gathered for a photo - more evidence of Windermere’s cultural shift?)

We’d been using the bikes quite a lot - the kids exploring, Dylan heading off to play Pokémon in all kinds of corners of the town, and Maya and me heading to the (invariably over-busy) little Co-op and Tesco stores to grab groceries. On the final evening, I grabbed the bike one last time to head to the Vinegar Jones chip shop to get a fish supper for us all, which we ate all together from the trays, sat around our camping table, the sun setting over the hills on the other side of the lake - perfect.

Faye taking a refreshment break, halfway around her Windermere marathon.

Unsurprisingly, there was some great running to be had, although to fit in our planned training did take a bit of juggling. I did a hilly half marathon, heading up the (thankfully footpathed) road along the west side of the lake to Ambleside, where I ran past the Epic Lakes Swim Windermere in full flow, as it were. My next run was an easy 13k, and I went south on the same main road towards Newby Bridge this time, sadly minus footpaths, but just about OK, despite having to jump in a hedge a couple of times. I also fitted in a hilly 10k, in which I explored Windermere town itself, looking for a running track around a football field I’d spotted on the map. That - the Phoenix Running Track - was where I headed the next day for my 800s into 400s interval session, and it was lovely first thing in the morning, bucolic and peaceful, surrounded by trees, the 300m simple gravel path around the field proving to be a perfectly serviceable training surface.

Faye, meanwhile, was in full-on ’explore’ mode. Her first run was a 12k trail run to the top of Orrest Head, and while she kept it relatively local for her 10k hill session and her 11k hilly recovery run, her standout effort was what she called ’the Lap’, a round-the-lake full marathon, heading clockwise down to Newby Bridge before negotiating the much less developed and often barely pathed western side of the lake from south to north, in the rapidly warming morning. Windermere has several Joey’s Cafe establishments, her godsend as she used them to stock up on coffee, sugary drinks and calorific snacks, and where she chatted to fellow runners. On the way she spotted both usual and unusual farm animals (llamas, anyone?), returning to camp from Ambleside on the same safe, footpathed roads that I ran on my half-marathon. An amazing effort, all said.

The top of Brant Fell: The kids, the dog, me… and the Orthodox Jewish family posing for their family photo.

It had been a brilliant few days, but we agreed that we wouldn’t like to live there with that level of tourism, and I wasn’t surprised by a noticable lack of easy friendliness from the locals when compared with laid-back Seahouses. They must get fed up with it all at times. We didn’t have time to get fed up with it, of course - because after our five nights, we were off again, this time heading south…

Time to show the kids the Great British Seaside. Seahouses is a small, out-of-the-way fishing village and seaside escape just north of Newcastle, that you get to from the A1 through miles of fields, and that has endless windswept beaches with fine sand, low rock formations, grassy dunes, and - away from the campsite, car parks and independent shops - few people.

We got there via a quick lunch stopover at the Scotts Arms near to Wetherby Bridge, where we met up with fellow campers Roy and Lynda who were also joining us on the trip in their motorhome. From there it was past the Angel of the North (singularly unimpressive from our bit of the motorway, I have to say, mainly hidden behind trees), and cross-country to reach Seahouses and the breezy, spacious Seafield Park campsite right on the beach and just a minute’s walk from the little town centre.

Sea, beach, dunes, sunshine, castle in the distance…

Meeting up with Lindsay, Joanna, John and Sue, friends old and new, we planned our next day’s adventure, a trip to Bamburgh Castle just a mile or two up the road. It is a huge, sprawling castle with multiple lawns, outhouses, towers and levels inside its walls and a dominating clock tower, nowadays housing various attractions including cafes and a museum. Once we’d had our fill (which happily included pasties and sausage rolls) we wandered down to the beach through the dunes, getting back to the van with shoes full of sand. That evening we had a pub meal at The Olde Ship Inn, where the overworked yet extremely friendly waitress did a great job of making us feel at home, kids and dog included.

Bamburgh Castle close up. It was busy but, like Seahouses itself, never felt crowded.

Dylan had found some lads with a ball at the campsite so was disappearing at regular intervals throughout our stay, praising the quality of UK banter compared to that of Gibraltar. Maya for her part headed off with Lindsay and Joanna one morning to go swimming in the cold North Sea, fearless young lady that she is. We, on the other hand, made use of the comfortably heated indoor pool, steam room and sauna at the campsite, where Dylan and I broke the family record for ‘volley ball’ in a swimming pool (87, for the record), and where we also witnessed a ‘quick, close the pool, somebody’s pooed!’ event.

It was our first visit to Northumberland and I was struck by two things: The genuine friendliness of everyone we spoke to, including the staff at the small (and practically empty) fairground set up in a field that we took the kids too one windswept afternoon, and secondly, how often the name and work of local boy Mark Knopfler cropped up, from Dire Straits on the radio, to fellow campers discussing him in relation to board game questions one evening, to Joanna offering to arrange a meet-and-greet with him for me as ‘I have a friend who knows him’ (I politely refused, remembering the blubbering idiot I turned into when I met another personal hero, Alex Ferguson).

Lots of open running and chilled tourism round these parts.

Seahouses is a good place for running, flat, open and with lots of quiet lanes. I did an easy 11km loop through the fields on quiet country lanes, followed by a very hard 1k-into-broken-k’s interval session on slightly hilly lanes where I couldn’t actually hit the fastest targets. Faye headed out for an ad hoc coastal easy 10k, a mainly easy 8k just before we left, and a 30k long run that took her into hillier, more inland countryside and which she totally loved.

Then it was time to pack up, plot a route, and head away from the north east to our next destination, the Lake District…

Maya’s birthday weekend and we’d promised her something special, so we took her to Center Parcs in Woburn Forest with a gang of family in tow. We went via a phone shop to get a UK data SIM card for the router (onboard WiFi being essential for family unity, of course) and we also stopped for a really good pub lunch close to the site at The Woburn, a huge but tasteful hotel/bar/restaurant, right at the heart of its village.

For the kids and me, Center Parcs was a first, but for Faye and her brother Adam it brought back childhood memories aplenty, especially in the water park. Over the next few days we/they’d spend a lot of time there on the rapids and slides, even dragging grandad Roy along - although nanny Lynda body swerved it, along with me after the first day, gotta be honest! I felt I needed a bit of R&R after a busy week, and the forest lodges we stayed in were lovely, with deer, rabbits, squirrels and even hedgehogs visiting our garden to delight us (and of course to torment the dog).

Thatched cottages near to Center Parcs.

On Maya’s birthday evening, Adam and I cooked a barbecue for everyone round at ours, pushing our tiny campervan firepit/barbecue to its limits (it is more suited to four people, not 10!) but just about managing to cook burgers, sausages, chops and kebabs for everyone. It was actually a lot of fun, with some earnest discussions about heat distribution, useful cooking longevity, briquette types and flame control, Dylan also being drawn into the debate. What is is about blokes and fire? Meanwhile the dog was determined to make friends with cousin Grace, and Adam was determined to make friends with the dog - both things eventually occurring! The climax of the evening was a huge pink birthday cake that Aunty Katie had kindly sent along for Maya, which we managed to eat most of over the weekend.

The next day started with a table for 10 to eat pancakes down by the lake, and continued with the young and young-at-heart hitting the water park again, returning to share tales - over an evening of pizzas - of seven-person chains down the rapids, lifeguards giving up on telling them off, and assorted bumps and scrapes. Speaking of which, both Roy and Lynda had minor incidents on the heavy ebikes they’d hired, which put them off a bit, so it was good that the kids managed to make good use of them.

We were surprised at how nice the countryside was around Centre Parcs, with gentle hills, lots of trees, and - a feature of our trip so far - picturesque villages.

Running-wise, it’s lovely countryside around the park, and I went on an easy but hilly out-and-back into the village of Ampthill, followed the next day by a hugely enjoyable 19k progressive repeats long run that took in lots of trails, bridleways and lanes, more than a few hills, and a couple of M1 under/overs for a bit of excitement. Meanwhile, Faye stayed reasonably close by for her hill session, heading a bit further afield to discover the parks of Ampthill for her 11k easy run the day after. Oh, and another thing: Faye also reported losing not one or two, but a full five toenails - including both big toes - after her extended pool session. It’s something any experienced endurance runner will know about, and she says it happens every summer on her first long dip, but five is definitely a new personal record.

All too soon it was back to reality, albeit a rather picturesque reality, as we headed to Roy & Lynda’s lovely cottage in Nether Whitacre to get the washing done and prepare for the next adventure. While we were there we ventured out for yet another pub lunch, this time to catch up with Faye’s mum (I am pretty sure I’ll weigh a stone more on my return, because I seem to have developed an obsession with both fish and chips, and any kind of tart on the dessert menus). We got caught up in the rush-hour diversions around the truly next-level HS2 work - you have to see it up close to realise the size of the project, scaled back though it has been.

Jolly decent of the growns to hoist the Gibraltar flag to welcome us to Nether Whitacre!

A couple more runs before moving on: I did a challenging over-and-under 400s on tired legs, and Faye did a drop set, both close to Shustoke Water. The reservoir would be good for a slow run but is not suitable for intervals/repeats because the circumnavigation is grass, not gravel/tarmac. Pretty area, though. Faye snuck in an easy-but-hilly run the following morning on generally quiet country lanes, just before we packed the van (it seems to get fuller and fuller…) and set off to the north east chasing some seaside fun.

Cruising the canals at the walking pace of a narrowboat feels like stepping back in time, into a parallel world that intertwines with the bustle of real life but manages to feel distant from it at the same time.

We’ve hired a narrowboat for a week, from Worcester Marina. Setting off by road from Southampton just before midday and after seemingly continuous roadworks, diversions, questionable GPS routing decisions and traffic jams, we rolled in at 4pm, just within the boat handover deadline. Some of the country roads we’d followed to avoid the literally closed actual route were tight single file, and it was all rather hairy, including a memorable near miss with a speeding red BMW coming the other way.

All that done though, plus a quick Asda trip (where we managed to close the self service checkouts briefly by smashing a glass beer bottle right in the thick of them) and we were ready to set off. It was a lovely contrast to the chaos of the M5 motorway to find ourselves cruising along the Worcester and Birmingham Canal, getting the hang of operating the locks, trees dappling us and the boat with sunshine, us eating blackberries from bushes along the towpath, and everyone generally unwinding in the evening sunshine. Kids both took to the tasks of boating immediately, Dylan quickly declaring that he wished the whole trip was on the canals, not just this week, and proving a natural at steering - no mean feat with a 70-foot boat.

Locks gave the kids something new to learn, and kept then active throughout the day.

I cooked us all a coconut dal with fried tofu for a late dinner, which took the last of my energy after a long day, and which sworn carnivore David gamely ate. In all seriousness we were to eat well aboard for the whole trip, with a veg chilli, mushroom risotto, pesto pasta and bacon, a BBQ cooked on a Cobb with wedges and homemade baked beans, several lunchtime pork pies, plus a chippy lunch on a village bench. But that was all to come; for now we all bedded down for our first night in our new home, moored just a few miles out of Worcester on a truly peaceful stretch of canal.

Next day started wet, but the day soon brightened up as we negotiated many locks, swing bridges, a tunnel, and an unfeasibly low bridge under the very same M5 we’d been so flustered on just a day earlier. We finally arrived in Droitwich, home of the famous Radio 4 long wave transmitter and perhaps more importantly, the Old Cock Inn where we had an OK pub dinner, but in a room of our own which was great, especially with the dog in tow.

One of the more bizarre tunnels, right under all eight lanes of the M5.

Over the next few days our boating took us through countryside that felt like time had forgotten it, fragments of ancient woodland, rivers (including the mighty Severn), rolling hills and more, with just the occasional jolt of the modern world, such as the frankly bizarre permanent funfair at Stourport, or the motorbiking joyriders who flew past us on the towpath one evening. Probably most beautiful was the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal, especially around the village of Kinver, with picturesque locks, old canalside pubs, lovely cottages, and imposing rock formations along much of that part of the route. At one lock we saw a guy ‘magneteering’, pulling debris out of the canal with a hugely powerful magnet (yup, that was a new one on me too).

Running-wise, much of the time Faye and I used the towpaths, such Faye’s 600s into 200s interval session, her difficult tempo run (breathing issues), her 12k easy and another 12k easy; or my easy 10k, my half-easy, half-tempo 12k and my easy 8k. We did leave the canals too: I did an easy 8k through the suburbs of Droitwich, and a 10x600m interval session in the lovely Vines Park (also in Droitwich), and Faye had to be more adventurous than that to get her distance in, with a couple of ‘man vs boat’ runs where she left us in the morning as we set off and joined us later on down the canal, namely her 30km long run south of Stourport and her 22km long run the next day from Droitwich to Tibberton, and other longer routes such as her ad-hoc progressive half marathon around Droitwich.

Old meets new frequently but old always seems to win out on the canals.

We had our fair share of minor incidents and comedy moments: Me pushing the boat off the bank and very nearly falling in; having to untangle a discarded fender from the propeller; David dropping part of the barbecue into the canal and somehow rescuing it with a boat hook; the memorable task of using a well-placed canalside pumping station for emptying the onboard toilets after the Morse contingent had successfully filled them to overflowing; literally boiling the engine coolant as we ragged the hire boat up the river at full pelt; the dog trying to walk on the green algae covering the surface of the canal.

We also had genuine successes: The dog learning to enjoy the bustle of activity at the locks (as long as she wasn’t on board, when the banging of the boat on the side petrified her); both kids truly loving canal life and mastering the skills with enthusiasm and not a small amount of strength when it came to the lock gates and paddles; Faye finding she loved the peace and particularly the wildlife along the way, watching it from the front of the boat with the dog; and lots of time for family chat, reminiscing, and putting the world to rights as we chugged through the countryside at a pace built for conversation.

Rivers and canals often ran side by side, with fragments of deciduous forest giving the wildlife a home.

It was with some sadness that we returned to Worcester from the direction we’d come, reacquainting ourselves with our first couple of locks once again as they became our last. There was once minor event yet to come: We decided to walk along the canal for a week-end meal at the Diglis House Hotel on the Severn (which was great, and where they gave us our own room with the dog, again). However, we struggled to get on the towpath to do so in the city centre, so in the end we hopped a fence and jumped off a wall to reach it, something Janet and Faye were not impressed with at all, to say the least! But they survived, and all too soon we’d had our final night’s sleep safely back in the marina.

Next morning, after David had finally caved and given Skye some of his food (a bit of banana at breakfast, having resisted her pleading eyes and head in his lap at mealtimes all week), we were saying a family goodbye in the car park and, in our case, heading off for adventures anew.

This blog entry is dedicated to Janet’s mother, who sadly died this week, aged 94.

Confession time: We willingly went straight to Burger King this time on our onward journey. Do not pass ‘go’, do not collect £200. At least we ate at lunchtime for once on a travel day. In brighter news, the countryside went from the plains of Spain to much more interesting gnarly rocks then mountains, tunnels, lots of meadows and woods, and before we knew it we were descending into our final night’s stay in Spain, at Laredo.

Strange place. Big, wide crescent of a beach with some good dunes, a large Gibraltar-esque rock (Santoño) facing it across the bay, but spoiled a bit by graffiti and with a neglected, faded feel, like a cross between a rundown UK coastal town and an out-of-season Benidorm. Still, the locals seemed happy enough, lots of teenagers bombing around on bikes and families out for evening strolls. We grabbed an ice cream from a decent parlour as we explored the promenade, the kids running up and down the dunes and Skye dodging all other dogs, as usual.

The hill that Faye used for her drop set session in Laredo.

Speaking of teenagers, we were sharing the small, walled-in urban campsite (Camping Carlos V) with a gang of 20 or so, and discretely asked to move to a pitch further away from them, as they seemed to be coming to life just as we were bedding down. They didn’t seem so joyous in the rain that came overnight though, Faye spotting at least one casualty with soaking wet feet sat outside the toilet block at 3am on the phone, presumably to mum…

Both Faye and I headed out on a morning run first thing in the drizzle, Faye completing an extremely successful hill drop set and me an acceptable (but nothing more) 2-mile time trial. I did spot lots of backpackers as I ran, finally putting two and two together: this nondescript little town is on the main Camino de Santiago route.

Back at the site, we packed up in the rain, then Lidl for supplies, and to the Santander Brittany Ferries terminal to board for the overnight to Portsmouth. Suddenly, British faces and number plates everywhere. And what a contrast to the Mediterranean Grimaldi Line car ferries we’ve also used recently: Modern, clean boat, friendly crew, easy boarding, and even passable buffet food (obviously very expensive though). Despite Skye hating being muzzled on the way to our pet-friendly, bunk-bedded cabin, she soon settled in, using the dog ’toilet deck’ almost immediately, against 24 hours of nervously holding it all in last time we took her on a Channel ferry.

Faye and I having a secret meal in the ferry restaurant, only to be rumbled minutes later by Maya who gave us a good telling off!.

The crossing involved reading and video games in the cabin, going in pairs to the buffet for meals, and eating too many sweets and chocolates that the kids had bought at Lidl before we left! There was a sneaky impromptu restaurant visit for Faye and me on one of the meal shifts, although we were rumbled by Maya who managed to locate us and give us her best schoolteacher telling off, arms crossed: ‘Had a nice secret meal, did we?’

We arrived in Portsmouth as the sun was setting, and within half an hour we were on the motorway for the short drive to the little village of Hamble at the mouth of the river of the same name, and Mercury Yacht Harbour, where we stayed at the pleasant holiday park with a big flat field for campervans and motor homes. Nostalgia-fest for me - the family yacht chartering business was here for many years, and the memories came back strong as we walked the dog around the place in the fading light.

The yacht harbour at Hamble, which brought back lots of memories.

Next morning Faye headed out for an easy run around the local countryside, while we all showered, packed up and got ready to make the short trip to meet up with David and Janet, my step dad and his wife, at their home just up the road, ready to make the trip up to canal country and a week together on a narrowboat.

Setting off from Nazaré we realised that by the time we reached the nice restaurant Faye had found for lunch in Spain, it would actually be an hour later than our already tight timings, as we’d forgotten about the change of time zone. So we went on the old ‘Morse family lookout’ for somewhere suitable to eat, involving leaving the motorway at towns that time and beauty had forgotten, and calling into motorway service stations where ‘restaurants’ were literally closed/boarded up. We eventually ended up at the Burger King in Salamanca at 4.20pm. Poor.

Chilled, grassy camping in the trees.

Soon we were there, though. Tordesillas. A small, isolated market/farming town on the Douro river, a few miles downstream from Valladolid, with an impressive bridge and tiny mediaeval town centre. We’ve been here before, to the same campsite - El Astral - which although it appears unpromising on the approach, is one of our favourites: Big, grassy pitches under deciduous trees, lots of birds (the little insect-pecking hoopoes being my favourites), and a peaceful, laidback, happy vibe, with a good restaurant. Road noise and mosquitoes/flies only spoil it a little.

I cooked my crowd-pleasing chilli for our arrival meal, and the kids suddenly decided to get back into Pokémon, heading off on their bikes with their phones to rendezvous with digital characters all around the area. Skye was much more chilled from the off, enjoying the open space, grass and fewer dogs, which was good because she really didn’t like the last place. So apart from a nice meal on our final night, meat heavy (the restaurant is an ‘asador’, ie barbecue joint), we ‘did’ very little here except chill and, in the case of Maya and me, reacquaint ourselves with the town one afternoon in order to snag some essential supplies.

Early, chilly morning on the edge of the forest.

One thing though: Mornings were cold! With the temperatures pushing 30 in the day, they dropped to below 10 overnight, and it was PJs in bed, and running-wise, it was gloves and jacket for Faye, and numb hands for me, at least at the start of our runs. My first session was ‘broken miles’ interval repeats, run up and down the perfectly flat, straight road outside the site - hard! I followed it up with an easy 14km trail run, skirting a forest plantation on gravelly and sandy tracks as the sun rose. After a bunny-laden easy run, Faye’s main effort of the stay was a 38km long run, and despite re-routing due to unexpectedly gated/locked trails, she was amazed at how easy it felt - her training is really working, she decided. She finished off on the morning of our departure with an easy 12km run.

In other news, Faye and I celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary, and I passed my first ‘year’ (actually two, as it’s a part-time degree) at Uni. And so, in good spirits and on a sunny and still morning, off we went - via a kindly vet who gave Skye here compulsory UK worming treatment - to the Cantabrian coast and soon, the ferry to England…

Temperatures were all over the place on today’s journey from Porto Covo up the coast to Nazaré, a fishing town and resort between Lisbon and Porto. A warmish morning on the coast led to sweltering inland weather into the mid-30s by the time we sat down for a (very poor) service station lunch. Arriving later at Nazaré, we were a full 15 degrees cooler, with a sharp wind and overcast skies greeting us as we set up the van in the pine trees of Ohai Outdoor Resort. Kept it interesting! Driving in, one thing was certain: The place has changed quite a bit from the out-of-the way, sleepy fishing town I first trudged to on foot with my friends on a post-uni European backpacking trip 34 years ago. Funny, that…

The campsite. It was mainly chalet-style accommodation in the trees, a few glamping tents, and just some areas around the edges for campervans and motorhomes.

Strange site, really. Like a holiday camp in a pine forest. Fine, but both campers and staff seemed a bit moody, and it felt a little oppressive. Dirt pitches too, meaning everything gets dusty. Lots for the kids to do though, with heated pools (including one made of shipping containers), water slides, outdoor adventure park, volleyball, a games room and football pitch, so they were off immediately on arrival, leaving us to figure out our running routes and me to prepare a risotto for dinner. The kids particularly enjoyed the padel, Maya proud of her serve (videoing it then putting it to music, of course).

When I first visited Nazaré in 1991, it had two main streets, a few racks of fish drying in the sun, and not much else. Now it has a proper promenade, an accredited football stadium right on the beach, a big wheel, countless supermarkets and hotels, and well-established suburbs that simply weren’t there back then.

On our second day we took the van itself on a rare outing (it usually lives in the campsite permanently when we stay somewhere) to clean all the bird muck off it at a jet wash I’d spotted, and to park up by the beach so we could explore. The waves were of course non-existent against the 100-footers I promised the kids based on the YouTube surfing videos that have recently made this place famous, but the town was full of life and we had a good meal at Tabernassa, sat in their conservatory at the front watching the world go by. During the meal, Faye and I did an impromptu, word-perfect Pet Shop Boys ‘West End Girls’ rendition - complete with parent arm dancing - and completely embarrassed the children, to the delight of an American couple sat opposite us.

Next morning as we were packing up to leave, I saw a lady going through the bin, her husband stood by their motorhome, looking quizzically back at her. Finally she fished out a set of car keys and with palpable relief waved them in the air so he could see she’d found them. I bet the minutes leading up to that moment, with someone finally saying, ‘Mmmm, perhaps they got thrown in the bin?’ were pretty fraught!

Lots of this kind of running around here, pic taken of the Estrada Atlântica north of Nazaré on Faye’s long run.

Running was good around here if a little boring in places, very quiet away from the main routes. That said the main roads were still OK as they were wide enough to comfortably dodge oncoming vehicles, even those recklessly overtaking. Pines, cliffs and sandy trails offered variety, but it is pretty hilly up and down into town. My first run of our stay was a challenging pyramid interval session, which I did out and back on the flat, straight road through the pines directly outside the campsite gates - hard but fulfilling. Faye started with a 34km long run, a mainly road-based loop, and found it easy, even with the hills at the end. My second run was a 17km easy (but hilly) run down the cliff into Nazaré itself, Faye doing something similar, although in her case Strava kept trying to actually throw her off the cliff. Faye ended on the morning we left with a 10km ‘Over & Under’ tempo session that she said really tested her.

Then it was the usual pack everything away, power up the satnav, and head off to the next place, in this case over the border into a new country, with a new timezone to boot…

The drive up from Luz to Porto Covo was through noticeably greener countryside than Spain, with gently rolling hills and much uncovered, outdoor agriculture - a huge contrast to, for instance, the greenhoused, barren landscape of Almería. We got to admire it over lunch at the roadside Altura Steakhouse & Bar in Aljezur, where our meals came with a huge array of extras like salad, dips, black bean and vegetable fries alongside the usual chips, and where we all also had homemade desserts, chosen by eye from the chiller cabinet.

Faye’s ribeye at the Altura restaurant, complete with salad, rice, pineapple, beans…

Stopping for supplies at São Teotónio, and despite having spotted a rather incongruous-looking Indian supermarket a couple of miles back, we were still a bit surprised to see so many brown faces, several turbans and lots of distinctively colourful clothing - it was like a little India! Apparently there are seasonal agricultural workers who make the very long trip from various parts of Asia, and we loved the vibe in the supermarket, not least because everybody seemed to be bulk-buying ice cream…

Journey done, we arrived at the pleasant, slightly more peaceful Costa do Vizir Campsite in Porto Covo. It was spoiled only slightly by the noise of the building work next door, and our pitch was partly shaded by a variety of trees, but after the first night I moved the van from under one of them, as many roosting birds equals a lot of mess directly underneath. The site itself is well situated, a ten-minute walk from the tiny town and its coves and beaches.

Seas and cliffs just off the main beach at Porto Covo.

On our first full day we chilled, broken up just by pool-time for the kids and an afternoon stroll into town, with craft ice creams for all from Gelataria Prime in the main square. Cooking-wise, I did get to break in our new cast iron frying pan, bought because we can use it on a fire should we wish, as well as on the van’s gas cooker. I made a family-sized omelette in it, and it played ball, with no ‘stickage’ to speak of.

Next day, while Faye hung out at home with the dog, the kids and I had the most perfect beach afternoon: Porto Covo’s main beach is a large cove, protected on both side by cliffs, with endless sand, a gradual slope down to big waves crashing in from the Atlantic, yet shallow until a long way out, and so perfect for playing in the breaking waves. It was busy but not packed, with plenty of room for all, perfect temperature, not a cloud in the sky, water cold but not too cold… and we came back just slightly sunburned. As I say, perfect!

Early morning down on one of the many secluded beaches dotted along the coast.

That evening we all walked along the seafront to La Bella Vita on the main pedestrianised street. The pizzas and tiramisu were excellent, everything fresh and homemade, and we enjoyed people watching from our table and on our amble home back along the clifftops and past the now almost empty beach.

Running-wise, our first morning’s runs on a breezy but perfectly sunny day were a tempo run for me, which I chose to do along the coast road for the surface and flatness, while Faye’s easy run meant she could hit the back tracks, most of which seem to be covered in sand. Next morning I chose the clifftop trails for my run, which turned into a hike and scramble in places as it dipped down to tiny coves and beaches and cut through brambly woods. Meanwhile, Faye headed out on the roads for a speed run in the rapidly climbing heat. Faye’s final run was an adventurous 11km clifftop trail route, which she found to be deserted other than for just a couple of other runners.

Tiny deserted beach on the walk home, accessed by steep steps from the clifftop, just before sunset.

So, Porto Covo ‘done’, I’m writing this on our final morning as we pack up to head up past Lisbon towards Nazaré, a town I have not visited since 1991 but thought about often, and that - due to its surfing reputation - we’ve sold to the kids as having ’the biggest waves in Europe’. Let’s see…

First three nights of this year’s summer expedition. Drove down to Lagos from Gibraltar, stopping at a well-placed Burger King just off the motorway outside of Sevilla for a patio lunch with dog tucked under table, before crossing the Guadiana International Bridge into Portugal. Grabbed a data Sim for Portugal to power up the WiFi from a Meo store at a shopping centre we suddenly recognised from a previous trip, then pushed on to Espiche, a couple of kms past Lagos and the same inland from Praia da Luz. It’s a very posh campsite, Yelloh! Algarve Turiscampo, with spacious gravel pitches, lots of greenery, indoor and outdoor pools, spa, restaurant, shop, snack bar etc.

Definitely a breezier and cooler few days compared to the heat and humidity of Gibraltar. The running has been more pleasant although much hillier, with a classic cliff scramble to get up to the Praia da Luz-Lagos clifftop path. Faye got some distance and hills in and managed to drop by where our friend Lindsay used to live in nearby Burgau, meanwhile I tried a progressive long run to Lagos as the harder of my two, which turned out to be progressive in effort rather than pace thanks to those hills.

We all fell instantly back into vanlife after 10 months of shore leave, the new Helinox lightweight cot (read: sunbed) proving a nice little afternoon nap addition to the kit list. Our new Decathlon one-season cotton sleeping bags are a more comfortable alternative to the technical but sticky nylon mummy bags we had been using previously, that more often than not got kicked to the end of the bed on warm nights. Cacophony of bird song including very vocal pigeons have proved to be an effective family alarm clock each morning.

Kids in kid mode waiting for their food outside Burger King.

The Anker Nebula 3 Capsule Laser battery TV projector is, as ever, providing easy evening entertainment, with Doctor Who and Ghosts on the programme, and the kids have already got through a couple of cheap balls (one went onto a roof, standard stuff). They’ve also enjoyed a bit of cycling, but mainly hung out in the heated pool.

Pressure cooking proving its worth as ever, with easy pasta in tomato sauce, coconut dal, and a family favourite, bean chilli, this time served with guacamole, Greek yogurt, cheese and tortilla chips for our final evening’s dinner. We did eat out at the cafe for lunch, going for piri-piri chicken and chips, of course, and I ordered “Misto de Algarvio” as a dessert, which thinking about it must mean “Algarve mix” - it was three small samples of local cakes with orange slices and ice cream, and was very nice!

We press on today to tiny Porto Covo up the west coast, famed for its beaches…

But by being clever in the meals we cook - and therefore in the gear we need - we’ve settled more or less on a small number of pieces that nestle together, fit in one half of one of the cupboards in the built-in kitchen, and allow us to prepare a wide variety of meals. Here’s everything we carry, with a peek into our cutlery drawer too.

Pressure cooker

This has been a revelation for a more plant-based diet. Because if you’re going to replace meat, the thing you’ll be replacing it with is beans and pulses, which it makes sense to buy dried, and which pressure cookers were practically invented to make light work of. What’s more, if you’re an athlete needing a lot of carbs, you’re also going to want to cook rice and potatoes regularly. A pressure cooker lets you cook all of these things super-fast using far less gas and with far less mess than any other method.

What’s more, it can be used as a one-pot approach to cooking things like chillies, chickpea curries, dals, and even quick pasta dishes where the pasta, water, and sauce all go together. It softens vegetables pretty much instantly, meaning no need to spend ages frying onions to get them soft. The uses go on and on.

For a camper van, you need a small one, and it’s worth mastering the pressure cooker at home with a larger model if you can before attempting to use a smaller one. But once you’ve got the hang of it - and it doesn’t take too long - it’s an indispensable centrepiece. Catherine Phipps can teach you all you need to know about pressure cooking.

Small pan and lid

The pressure cooker can, of course, be used like a normal pan, but a second pan with a lid allows you to augment a meal with extra vegetables, do things like cooking porridge, and also provides a useful place to ‘store’ one half of a pressure cooker meal. For instance, you could cook the rice, put it in a pan, put it to one side, and then quickly cook the second part of the meal in the pressure cooker. Because everything happens quickly, there’s no need to reheat when you do this. We’ve got one that doesn’t have a handle - it just has two small metal handles, which makes it easy to store.

Kettle

We have a very small camping kettle that’s enough to make cups of tea but also lets you boil water more efficiently, which is useful when pressure cooking. Sometimes when pressure cooking, it’s easier to add boiling water than boil it inside the pressure cooker with the food, because it gets everything up to pressure quicker and makes it less likely that food will stick.

A stove-top coffee pot

These are dirt cheap, last forever, and make coffee that, apart from espresso, is the best you’re going to get. Takes less than five minutes in the morning and gets used multiple times every day before midday.

Utensils

Across in the cutlery drawer, we have a wooden spoon, a silicone spatula (for getting every last bit of food out of pans), a hard plastic spatula, a single very sharp cook’s knife, a portable knife sharpener for that knife, a garlic press (which I consider to be a luxury item, but we eat so much garlic it really does save time), a pair of kitchen scissors, and a Swiss Army knife with a bottle opener, can opener, and so on. A small wooden chopping board tucks in with it all. And finally, two square airtight food containers that nestle inside each other for keeping uneaten food in.

And that’s it. With what I’ve just described, we can cook all the meals we regularly want with enough variety to keep us interested. And again, it all centres around the pressure cooker - the one item here that we’d really be lost without.