One of my biggest bugbears in the last week has been the e-newsletters I’ve been getting from companies that market to pregnant women. Usually I rather like the updates on what fruit or vegetable my baby is the size of (an aubergine if you’re interested) and of course I’m in it for the free stuff and vouchers. But recently I keep getting suggestions that now is a great time to take a holiday.

I completely agree and if it wasn’t for the fact the husband and I are spending money on crazy things like travel systems and NCT classes I’d be booking that holiday pronto. Except no, we also need to bear in mind his holiday allowance and with two school aged kids (I’m counting the youngest as he starts in September and we’re doing the meet the teacher stuff) that’s tricky given that teachers like meetings that take place during the day.

Trust me, if I had £1.5k and he had an extra weeks’ holiday we’d be on it. We wouldn’t need it suggesting it to us. I’d be all over those mouth watering websites credit card in hand.

Evidently the notorious pregnancy grumpiness is well in flow. But I’ll leave you with this thought; such holidays in the “ideal time” of the second trimester are called Babymoons. Doesn’t that make you want to stab all involved (marketers and rich parents-to-be alike) now? See, it’s not just me!

Another kind of tourism I shall not be partaking in is trips into space. It’s not just the hefty £125,000 price tag of Richard Branson’s Virgin Galactic trip 100km above the Earth’s surface but the idea of going into space terrifies me. The idea of infinity creeps me out but by going no higher than a passenger jet can carry me is sufficient for it to seem far away.

But there seems to be no shortage of interested adventurers for the first flights (scheduled for the end of 2013). Robin McKie, writing for The Observer, points out the comparative value to other dramatic experiences: ‘A key common factor for these projects is the price-tag: steep but not prohibitive. It costs around £30,000 to £75,000 to make an attempt to climb Mount Everest, for example, and it is no coincidence that flights by Virgin Galactic and XCOR are priced only slightly higher – to capture the high-adventure tourism market dominated by the man and woman with the Breitling watch and the six-figure salary.’

The experience won’t last long. The Virgin Galactic flight which will be made with a pilot and six passengers will provide ‘six or seven minutes to float around the cabin and indulge in an ecstasy of camera-clicking before their ship starts to arc downwards.’ I’ve had ice creams that have lasted longer! I guess for me, the top experiences of my travels have allowed time to really take it all in. The briefest was probably the twenty minutes I spent watching Manta Rays in the Maldives but that same trip included seeing the clearest stars imaginable (there are a LOT!) whilst holding onto a fortifying glass of wine lest thoughts of the aforementioned infinity creep in.

I suppose I want value for money while those eager to shoot into space are interested in an experience that is quite literally out of this world. Perhaps it is just down to money. A few years ago I couldn’t comprehend why some people would spend what I considered to be ridiculous amounts of money on hotel rooms. But when visiting some friends who had just moved to Portland, the husband and I had little choice but to fork out for a decadent B&B. It was blissful. And I do like expensive shoes. Maybe I’m trapped in the mentality of my income bracket?

Well if not the tropics and not outer space, where am I going?

Next Wednesday I’m heading to Durham to attend the graduation ceremony for my PhD. There’ll just be my mum and the husband as I’ve elected to celebrate with my family on their home turf. On the Friday we’re having lunch with my Grandad at The Box Tree, Michelin Star feasting Yorkshire style before heading to Manchester to celebrate with my family living in the West of the country. This leaves a single day for the husband and I to squeeze in our second trimester holidaying.

We’re going to Lindisfarne. I last went years ago with my ex husband who in a pique of frustration insisted on taking on the causeway and trashed my mother’s car. I’m very excited to not only be going back but to be staying on the island itself (and with a man whose love for his BMW will treat the tide calendar with far more religious reverence than anything spiritual on the island itself).

I’m eager to show the husband some of the magic of the North of England. While the borders are as far from where I’m originally from as Gloucester is from Plymouth the North often feels smaller. Perhaps it’s due to the sheer number of fields that mean you can drive for miles without passing anything bigger than a hamlet. The first time the husband drove to the North East he exclaimed that we were only a few junctions from our destination. Yes, I replied, we’ll be there in about forty minutes.

The best thing about holidaying up North is the weather is nearly always bad (I’m from Yorkshire, I get to say that) so my expectation of Lindisfarne will be of rolling mist, haunting grey skies and warming up over chips in a cosy pub. Not that I’ll complain if we get freakish blue skies and a beautiful sunset but the bar is low and I can only have a wonderful time.




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