By the title of this post, you may have got here by either googling "I'm a single depressed woman, drinking gin" or "I'm new to dogging" or even 'Hi, I'm George Michael'. If you are one of those, you will be disappointed by the post so you might want to hit the back button.I'm talking about the picture of that sad lonely, so-called BBQ. We went along to Centre Parcs again for our first real family holiday. Alongside the cabin you have your own patio and BBQ area. It's not a real man's BBQ though. Ruled by the Health and Safety laws we now operate in, you have to buy an actual disposable BBQ to put on top of the non-purpose fake built in BBQ. Hilarious. Suppose it stops the possibility of a massive fire that would probably rip through the whole forest and burn everything from red squirrels to oversized-greedy-fat-people-who-are-there-to-convince-themselves-it-is-an-active-holiday.
Aside from this observation, we all had a great holiday especially the little one who just loved being pulled in a trailer everywhere by my bike. The cabin was spotless, sunshine was there most days and the food was incredible (self-catered). It's the second visit to Centre Parcs, never thought I would like it, but I do. Won't be long before I like caravans too.
