
Last Autumn I started thinking about holding a family get-together: me, parents, all siblings and babies and other-halves and various add-ons such as dogs and fluffy dinosaurs and pull-along ponies. It would be fun, I mused, to get everyone in the same place at the same time and it would also be momentous, in a way, because we had not all been in the same place at the same time for years. In fact, taking sibling husbands and girlfriends into account, we had never all been in the same place at the same time.
Mass gatherings don’t happen in our family very frequently because a) we all live spread out over England and trying to get a time when everyone is free, and able to travel, and willing to travel, is nigh on impossible and b) (and this is probably more the reason) there simply isn’t enough room at any of our houses to comfortably accommodate everyone together without there being queues for the loo or mayhem around the dinner table or gridlock on the driveway. Of course the parental home is always the hub, but what parents expand the size of their property as the children grow up? Most start downsizing, or at least stay put, and the home that once held two adults and a few kids suddenly feels very tight when those kids are tall and come with a family of their own who all need room.

And so (stay with me, readers, you’re in for the long-haul here!) I started a discussion with my Mum about planning a family get-together “away”. Something I’ve inherited from Mother: I take an almost indecent amount of pleasure in organising things “away”. Weekend city-breaks, fortnights in the sun, days out to visit family and friends; both of us seem to enjoy sitting for hours at the computer trawling deals and hotel options, working out flight itineraries and nit-picking our way through Tripadvisor and Booking.com to weed out the trustworthy reviews. So we tackled the family get-together idea with gusto, immediately listing ideas and accommodation options.

We wanted something quite special, with a touch of luxury, as we felt that this was a big occasion (my birthday, my niece baby Edith’s first birthday and something else rather exciting) and so the first consideration was whether or not we booked a hotel. But for the number of rooms we’d need, a hotel was prohibitively expensive and we didn’t like the idea that we wouldn’t be able to cook and we’d have to constantly find activities to keep the group occupied, otherwise everyone would just end up spending time in their own little rooms and the whole get-together weekend would be little more than having an evening in a restaurant and then seeing everyone for breakfast again the next morning!
And so the solution for this special weekend was to rent a house. I’m no stranger to the whole holiday-let renting game; I’ve been on quite a few weekends with twelve or so friends and all the relevant children, I’ve been abroad and stayed at lovely villas with Mr AMR and I’ve shared little holiday cottages in England with my parents. In every way, a large rented house was the ideal solution here: plenty of space to all be together, the ability to cook all of our own meals whenever we wanted to and enough separate, private rooms to allow for quiet time. In short, replicating the typical family home set-up, just with enough room to house everyone comfortably. But with a bit of something extra-special and lovely, something that we would all remember for a long time afterwards…









