I’d forgotten that it’s not just the destination, but the journey too
The sea breeze, the blue sea: I’d forgotten the joy of taking the ferry
I think we've forgotten how enjoyable travel can be. Somewhere along the way, getting from A to B became something to endure rather than enjoy.
Airport security, baggage allowances, queues, boarding calls and the quiet panic of wondering if someone's passport is in the right pocket of the wrong bag at the worst possible moment.
All of this is why I'd forgotten just how lovely it is to take a ferry. Its been a couple of years.
Maybe it's because the holiday begins the moment you drive onboard.
There isn't that familiar airport rush or the scramble for the gate. Instead, you park the car, wander out onto the deck with a coffee, feel the sea breeze on your face and watch the Irish coastline slowly drift away.
It feels like travel used to feel: part of the adventure rather than simply the bit you have to endure to reach your destination.
We sailed from Rosslare to Pembroke last week, the sun blasting the surface of the Irish Sea, which looked more Mediterranean than Celtic.
The temperature reached 27 degrees, and somewhere between watching the waves and soaking up the sunshine, I realised we'd somehow got one over on the system. We'd booked a ferry but somehow ended up on a mini cruise.
Less than four hours later we rolled off the ferry, drove the short distance to Bluestone, and our holiday had officially begun.
I realised very quickly that I wasn't about to break the internet by recommending Bluestone. Judging by the number of Irish accents floating around the resort, the secret has been out for quite some time.
Every time we walked into the Blue Lagoon, passed the climbing wall or queued for ice cream, someone was saying, "Lads, the heat has me bet" whilst surrounded by offspring in last years Cúl camp jerseys.
At one point I genuinely wondered if we'd somehow taken a wrong turn and ended up in an alternative universe called County Bluestone.
I can see why.
Our lodge was tucked away among the trees, our children bounced from one adventure to the next, and we quickly settled into that lovely holiday rhythm where nobody really knows or cares what day of the week it is.
We spent our evenings wandering around the village and our days exploring not just Bluestone but Pembrokeshire itself.
Tenby is every bit as beautiful as I previously remember, with its colourful harbour, medieval walls and sweeping beaches. We wandered around Carew Castle, where nearly 2,000 years of history seem to linger in every stone, and visited Folly Farm, which began life as a working farm before growing into one of Wales' favourite family attractions.
I liked that connection. It felt like a little reminder that great things often grow from ordinary beginnings.
As parents, we spend so much of the year thinking about logistics. School runs, lunches, football boots, forgotten swimming togs and calendars that somehow never have enough space.
What I loved most about this trip was how uncomplicated it felt. We packed everything into the boot, drove to Rosslare, rolled onto the ferry and simply let the holiday unfold from there.
Sometimes the best family holidays aren't about travelling halfway across the world. They're about finding somewhere close enough that the journey feels effortless, yet different enough that your children come home convinced they've had a proper adventure.
And judging by all the Irish number plates parked around "County Bluestone", I suspect we're far from the first family to discover that.