The Isle of Skye, Scotland
Until last year I was Scottish Isle virgin and I’m not ashamed to say the inner Hebridean island of Mull was my first. Rugged, rolling landscapes tinged golden in the fading light, reflected perfectly in silent loch waters. Ethereal sunsets, Whisky and wildlife – magical. I’m hoping for more of the same untouched scraggy beauty in Skye.
My love affair with France began when I was just a nipper and I’m always excited to return to the country. For all the usual stuff – the food, the cheese, the wine, the Southwest coastline but also the baking heat from the roads in the summer sun, long stretches of beach, the sky gleaming blue against the bright white of the humpy sand dunes, the perfect campsites.
When I introduce my child to some folk for the first time, their initial question, backed up with knowing smile and a teeny wink is: “Named after the place of conception?”. Erm, no actually.
As a child and a name like Angharad, the tiny joy of finding a touristy badge or an eggcup with your name on eluded me (this isn’t the reason I named her Florence either). But I would love to take my little one to her namesake city for the fantastic history, architecture, sights and food Florence has to offer. and perhaps get a little souvenir with her name on too.
I LOVE Christmas. Especially when it’s done properly and by properly I mean engrained with tradition, twinkly lights, spiced mulled wine, ice rinks, cheesy festive films, carols, candles, grottos and toys. Which makes next December’s travel wishlist destination a trip to one of the best Christmas markets on the planet, which I’m told happens in Germany!