Both of my parents should have retired a long time ago.
They got married incredibly young (my Dad was just 18 when he proposed) and have always cited their busy work lives as a driver behind their marital bliss.
Even at the ages of 60 and 62 they both still insist on pulling full time shifts. Dad used to be a mechanic, but the job proved to be too physical for him later in life. He now loves working down the local supermarket, talking to people all day and keeping active, stocking shelves. Mum’s been working as a receptionist at the same GPs for her entire working life, keeping order behind her desk and ensuring the most needy patients are seen first.
Bank Holidays tend to not mean much to people who live overseas for any great stretch of time, after all, it’s not like you can demand to have the May Day Bank Holiday off whilst you’re living in Dubai, just because everyone back home is taking it off. When I finally made it back to Blighty, after nearly 20 years spent abroad working, I had to remind myself (as well as my parents) all over again about the joys of Bank Holidays. These wonderful 3 or 4 day stints pop up throughout the year offering the British public a well earned break and a chance to indulge in extended weekend adventures.
When Bank Holidays come around, my parents usually like to indulge in a lie-in, get the papers and catch up on some television. However, since I returned to Conwy, I’ve insisted on them making the most of their time off. That’s how we found ourselves bundled into my car with a picnic hamper, rolling down the M6 on our way to glorious Devon.
Although Wales is full of great places to visit, not to mention some truly epic landscapes, my parents often have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of the country, even when we have the luxury of long weekends.
When I was a child they were always content with taking me to the beach and hiring a couple of deckchairs for the day. As much as I can still find huge nostalgic thrills from walking down our local waterfront, I don’t mind getting into the car and taking my parents out of their comfort zone.
Staunch patriots that my parents are, it takes a lot to convince them that there might be better beaches outside of Wales. However, they were pleasantly surprised by what we found on the gorgeous coast of North Devon.
With miles of coastal trails and paths to explores, there’s more than enough variety to appease even the most stubborn Welsh nationalist. After a day of breaking in and out of stunning moor land, my Dad was more than a little pleased to stumble across The Village Inn in the town of Lynton.
Lynton is one of those quintessential coastal towns that makes you feel like you’ve travelled back in time. There’s a functioning Cliff Railway system (the highest of it’s kind in the world) that hauls happy tourists up throughout the warmer months of the year and you can even a watch a movie in the adorable Lynton Cinema, a 68-seat capacity theatre that usually puts on two showings a day.
In addition to these charming diversions, there’s also the picturesque High Street that is home to some lovely cafes and souvenir shops.
After a long day of exploring Exmoor, it would have been nice to hole up in a pub for the evening and settle into a B&B for the evening, however this was May Bank Holiday and my parents were eager to get back to Conwy.