If staycations this summer are anything like my childhood holidays in Ireland, I'll be packing my waterproofs

In normal times, running around from the school gates to the office, to the gym, the shops, the doctor’s or dentist’s surgery means we arrive at the summer months champing at the bit to get the hell away from the real world and onto a sun lounger for a week or two. Up big hills and down through valleys,walking is often the only feasible outdoor pursuit as games of tennis are rendered miserable as the thwack of the soggy ball will only result in a face full of manky rainwater –having youreyes squeezed shut as your opponent attempts a return shot does not make for a Grand Slam quality game. So instead of flip flops or lovely summer sandals, sensible walking boots that don’t give you blisters would be a sound investment. So the irony is that while you’re wrapped up in unbreathable waterproofs to keep the rain off, inside that plastic-wrapper-for-humans you’re sweating buckets and wind up just as soaked after minimal amounts of physical exertion. Once you arrive in a pub or cafe to take shelter from whichever kind of rain it is you’ve just been marching about in, the first thing you have to do without even thinking is strip off that light but bloody impregnable jacket. The air thick with the fug of walkers’ sweat and exhaustion.When you’ve refuelled, it’s impossible to know if you’re heading back out into the rain, or if all that really is just condensation. This is all manageable once you know you have a lovely holiday cottage or hotel room to return to – preferably with an inviting bath tub to soak in with a glass of wine before dinner. My mother and I were often invited out to the holiday home of a family member on the Aran Islands off the coast of Galway. Picture that episode of Father Ted where they try to go on holiday and find themselves in a caravan with Graham Norton trying to hold an Irish dancing competition– that kind of a thing – only smaller. As a child it was a huge adventure, though I don’t think my sun worshipping, bath-loving mother was a fan of having to sprint from thedriveway intothe house in her dressing gown during one of those downpours just to use the loo. Nowadays, caravans are far better equipped so if you find your over-excited other halfhasbooked you intoone on the north Norfolk coast for a week, don’t fret, I’m sure it’ll be lovely. But remember, just because the holiday might not start with hopping on a plane or involve setting a 5am alarm to get your towel on to a prime poolside sun lounger, it doesn’t mean it will make for memories any less meaningful.And you could still get sand stuck in your sandwiches in Spain.