Bizarrely, this is one of those topics which actually makes me feel mildly uncomfortable.
Nowadays, travel is a huge part of the lives of so many people. It's so easy to get a flight to some far off county, find a cheap deal, or organise a last minute trip. It's exciting and liberating.
And I hate it.
Okay, so hate is maybe a bit of a strong word. Dislike, perhaps. Dislike flying, dislike staying in beds that aren't mine (and might not be clean, ugh!) and my favourite part of any trip is definitely coming home again.
The strongest feeling I get when people talk about their travels is jealousy.
I really wish I travelled. I really wish I wanted to travel. But, quite simply, I don't.
When I was younger, we travelled a lot. 4 different primary schools, 4 different houses, 3 different towns. We also had lots of holidays - the Channel islands, Portugal, Spanish islands, Greece, Florida...not to mention holidays to the mainland when we lived on the Isle of Lewis.
I feel so fortunate to have had all of these experiences. And I loved them.
I often wonder if these are the reasons for my lack of desire to travel now. Don't get me wrong, I'd LOVE to see the world. There are so many places that sound amazing. Maybe one day.
But for now, you know what? Travelling just isn't my thing.
And that's OK.
And when I can have experiences like these in this country throughout the year, what does it even matter?