Two days into our eight-day trip to Northern Ireland, and it's going almost perfectly.
Marshalled by their big cousin Katie, the kids are having a whale of a time (although sadly haven't seen one) and are even getting some exercise. Really.
They spent a big chunk of this morning on Portstewart Strand and, after refuelling, this afternoon got muddy in Downhill Forest. We ended with an ice cream in Castlerock.
Yesterday - after I indulged in a spot of early morning dental tourism - it was playgrounds and kiddie rides all the way. Yes, who needs Las Vegas or Monaco or the Maldives when you come from Northern Ireland's Causeway Coast? (Don't answer that).
So why has our time only been "almost" perfect I hear you yell?
Three reasons if I'm being picky:
- It's not 30 degrees and sunny every minute of the day;
- My temporary crown - stuck in yesterday morning - has already fallen out; and
- I cannot get rid of this effing hangover (despite going for a three-mile beach run in an attempt to shift it. I'm afraid "hair of the dog" is my sole remaining option. Poor me).
PS Something tells me Jamie's already a touch tired...