Growing up, my family holidays tended to be cringe-worthy affairs. Sparing no expense, we'd take to the open road in a flimsy caravan that jack-knifed with every fart, ready to embrace adventure and build memories to cherish. One of my memories happens to be having the vomit hosed off my nightie in a freezing shower block as a result of my well-meaning but misguided father spoon-feeding me Scrumpy.
Now I've got a couple of nippers of my own, and the flashbacks to my own travel traumas have subsided, I plan to set about proving that travelling with kids can be more fun than boiling your own... full info