My response? "I'll go to Scotland when I'm 30. But right now I want to go somewhere adventurous."
How carefree was my scornful 18-year-old self. Travelling the world was easy back then, when plans could involve little more than stuffing a vest top and a pair of frilly pants into a rucksack.
It took me until the age of 37 to have a holiday in Scotland. And it did feel like a bloody adventure. The community nurse had only just stopped her daily visits to dress my caesarean wound, which had opened up and then got infected. Trekking from London to Ayrshire, with a breastfeeding three-month-old and a two-year-old still in the 'jealous beast' stage of infant development was just about the most arduous trip I've ever made.
Undaunted, for our next adventure with the Pigeon Pair, we decided to escape our building work and fly to Spain.
Having a fully healed Mum, and an (almost fully) weaned baby helped. But a few other things also made the holiday run smoothly.
Flying with a buggy. Surprisingly (given that they charge for everything else short of trips to the loo), Easyjet allowed us to take one for free, wheeled all the way to the plane doors then whisked off to the hold at the last minute. This meant Gwen could snooze while we waited, and we had more hands free to stop Austin galloping off to catch the next flight to Dubai.
Staying in a quiet fishing village (Benajarafe), rather than on a resort. The Daddy D and I are allergic to organised fun, so we decided to avoid the risk of ending up at the sort of place where perma-drunk Brits are corralled into karaoke contests by megaphone-wielding 20-year-olds. Austin didn't need kids' clubs, as he was excited enough about exploring the villa, or playing with locals on the beach.
Travelling off season, so we could afford a place with enough space for us to relax in the evening. The villa we stayed in (which we found through HomeAway) was beautiful, and came with everything we needed: travel cot, high chair, massive bag of toys, cable TV...ok, apart from CNN none of it was in English, but Austin still enjoyed watching Mike the Knight gadding about in German. As it was the south of Spain, even though we went in January the weather was still warm and sunny enough to make it feel like a 'proper' holiday.
Hiring a car from a company recommended by the villa owners. The area around Malaga is notorious for car hire rip-off merchants, who advertise low prices then add clauses in the small print which mean you end up paying a fortune. We used Patry Car, and paid a fraction of the cost advertised by Eurocar and the like. No hidden charges, either.
Using a babysitting service (provided by the villa owners). We'd never met her before, but the dimpled cheeks of the Spanish answer to Mary Poppins reassured us we'd be safe in leaving our little ones for a couple of hours while we downed some tapas and vino tinto. It also gave me a chance to ogle some jamon.
Spain. If Scotland's too much of a challenge, why not give it a shot?