The Spicer family are a bunch of seasoned staycationers. While many families are holidaying in the UK for the first time this summer, we’ve been doing it for years.

The main reason for this is that we are lucky enough to have a family home on Exmoor, purchased over 50 years ago by my late Mother-in-Law. It would be fair to say that Robert has many fond memories of summers spent in Dulverton and it is one of his favourite places in the world. It ticks many of the boxes he is looking for in a holiday location – a decent restaurant and pub both walking distance from the house, access to some excellent fishing & shooting and a really fine butcher’s shop only a short drive away. Although some of these things matter to me (not the fishing, shooting or butcher’s you’ll not be surprised to learn) I have always more interested in the comfort of my holiday accommodation, something Andrew’s House was lacking when I was first invited to stay. I think I may have mentioned before that I am not, nor have I ever pretended to be, a hardy sort. I have a largely cheery disposition if I am warm and dry, however if I am cold and damp I become quite miserable, quite quickly. Andrew’s House, through no fault of its own, did cold and damp remarkably well and so, although I loved Dulverton & Exmoor, the same could not be said of the house.  

I continued to tag along (it was that or be left at home), I even dragged the small boys there, and like their father, they loved it.

I tried dropping many unsubtle hints such as “central heating would be nice” until one day, on discovering an unusual sort of mushroom (possibly toadstool, definitely fungus) growing from the kitchen ceiling, the toys came out of my pram.

There followed a campaign on our part to persuade aforementioned M-in-L to transfer the house to us, so that we could lavish some TLC (and let’s be honest, a not insubstantial amount of cash) on it. It took several years and many false starts, before she agreed to let it go, but about six years ago we began the transformation and I am happy to say with the arrival of central heating, a shower you can use without fusing all the downstairs lights, and a new kitchen (with not an indoor mushroom in sigh), it is now one of my favourite places in the world too (though I still don’t fish or shoot).

We have just had a really lovely week there walking, eating out, reading & lazing about. The 25 years of hovel dwelling (as I refer to it), mean that I smile every time I walk into Andrew’s House, it’s so warm and welcoming now and I remain really chuffed with the difference a little TLC made.

We usually balance our staycation with a week or two somewhere warm. Guaranteed blue sky & sunshine each day is good for the soul and sadly the UK, though fabulous in many ways, cannot be relied upon for this, not even in August. There are many photos to prove (see below) how we’ve braved the wet and windswept beaches of the North Devon coast. Having popped up the small tent to shelter in when it rains, hammered the wind break into the sand and donned at least three more layers than any right-thinking Aussie would dream of wearing on a beach. I would spend the many hours it took for the small boys to get tired of body boarding, playing cricket, rock pooling and fighting over the bucket and spade (why did we not just buy two) wondering if it was indeed brightening up a bit over there. It was character forming apparently – I must have one of the most well rounded characters in the UK.

This year sadly no escape to the sun – Robert is too busy and can’t risk having to quarantine on our return, so we have decided against a last minute dash to the sun for a week. I am trying to be brave, but fear I am failing miserably. I appreciate this is a First World problem and is almost definitely a prime example of me being bratty, so in an attempt to distract myself I’ve started looking forward to Christmas…