Before the aircraft had come to a complete stop, surprise, surprise! A text from son David and a picture of grandson, Harry, standing in front of the backdrop of our plane just touching down.  Harry had insisted that Daddy take him to pick us up from Heathrow. It wasn’t long before we were running towards each other at the airport, arms outstretched for big, long-awaited hugs. This was what we’d travelled halfway round the world for.

Loaded up and ready to go, I was regaled all the way home, in the back seat next to Harry, with everything new and exciting that he and his brother have been doing. I also had to sit and watch as he landed aircraft after aircraft on his hand-held Fire Tablet flight simulator, because, he told me, he wants to be a pilot, just like Daddy!

Saturday midday. London’s orbital motorway, the M25, was in Mayday Bank Holiday mode, but we had hoped that by the time we got on it, everyone who was going places for the hols had gone places already. Wrong. Try as they may with speed enforcement advisory lights on booms over the road, in an attempt to regulate heavy traffic, we once again found ourselves in the world’s biggest parking lot! By the time we got to our destination, we were flagging somewhat. The dreaded jet lag caught up later.

That was over a month ago, and we’ve spent some wonderful time with the children, family, and extended family. We’ve been to Grandparent’s Day at their school, watched them dance the maypole, observed their cricket practice, and taken them for their swimming lessons. Harry and Max, in the meantime, have shown us how much they’ve grown up since we last saw them, and how much they’ve learned at school, even though they’re still only in forms two and one respectively.

One of the highlights they insisted on taking us to was the new Maldon Military Museum. An amazing private collection, now with National Lottery funding, it’s reckoned to be one of the best in the country. But the real reason for the children’s keen interest in the museum is…Peter Mason. Or should I say, ‘The name is Mason…Peter Mason.’ Captain Peter Mason, it transpired, was a wartime SOE operative and Cold War British Intelligence officer who, together with his wife Prue – an MI6 agent codenamed Zoe, but better known as Lipstick Lil –  boasts a whole section of the museum devoted to his undercover spying activities. Mason was a close friend of Ian Fleming and is said to have been the inspiration for the character James Bond. Certainly, their exploits shared a number of common traits – Mason and Bond were both Licenced to Kill, and both used an array of weapons that would have done Q proud. So, fame at last for Grandpa!

Heading west, we went to stay with our old friends in Hampshire, where we drove to visit the Bombay Sapphire gin distillery. Yep, right there in the heart of Hampshire. Never knew that! The tour was interesting and revealed more about the making of gin than I ever knew possible, including the different ‘botanicals’ used for flavour. Of course, gin is now THE drink of the moment all over the world, and distilleries are apparently springing up like mushrooms, everywhere. We downed our chosen botanicals gin cocktail before heading off for a pub lunch half-a-mile away, at Watership Down. The title of that famous Richard Adams book, and film of the seventies. Beautiful hare and rabbit watercolours adorned the walls, and Oh No! rabbit terrine was on the menu. It was delicious. (Sorry, Hazel and Brighteyes).

We’ve travelled to stay with our lovely friends in Cornwall, and sat through most of that Royal Wedding, followed by a ‘country lane party’ –  any excuse to get together with near-neighbours, drink gallons of Pimm’s, and dress up silly! We also enjoyed the great outdoors, many times, and walked through fields of bluebells, gardens of rhododendrons and azaleas, and caught rare glimpses of deer in the grounds of fine old mansion houses. Everywhere we go there are steps, stairs, uphills and down slopes. Consequently, my wonky leg has been pushed to the limit, with beneficial consequences.

We also took a trip up the wide Fal river where, it was explained by our guide, the water was bank-to-bank boats before the D-Day landings, Falmouth being an important military port of call. The weather got hotter, and jackets brought for brisk spring days were abandoned for shirt-sleeves, shorts and summer wear. (Up to writing, we still haven’t seen more than a slight drizzle of rain, and we’ve hardly worn our jackets, and it’s getting hotter).

Fowey, in Cornwall. Our old stamping ground. A small picture-perfect seaside town with pastel cottages tumbling down the hills on either side of the very deep river Fowey. We once had a boat there to go around to the small bays and coves on a warm summer’s day. The water is crystal clear, and you can look straight through its blue depth to the sea bed. We were there for the annual Du Maurier Fowey Festival – initiated when we lived there, it grew into a very successful literary festival that drew in famous authors like Ian Banks, Clive James and Geoffrey Archer, and bands such as Johnny Dankworth and Cleo Laine. Daphne lives on. However, we were rather disappointed that it appeared to have had its heyday. We still attended author talks, and met some interesting people, including an invited speaker from Macquarie University in Sydney, who has just published a very controversial book questioning Daphne Du Maurier’s sexuality.

Re-basing back to the family, our next trip was to the west country – this time for a bit of R&R for a week’s house swap. Glorious rural Wiltshire – chocolate-box picture thatched cottages, fields of rippling ripening wheat, village pubs with good food, and a Rick Stein restaurant in nearby Marlborough. Our home-from-home was a large thatched house set in acres of emerald lawns and bob-tailed rabbits foraging alongside the occasional hare. With roses round the door, an Aga in the kitchen and all mod cons, what more could we want? The week came to an end too soon, but we were looking forward to our next stop in Bath, the beautiful golden-stone city where we once lived, and from where we ran our business.

Once again – old friends to see – and more importantly, ballooning. Thirty-five years ago, we started our business flying hand-picked high-profile clients’ hot air balloons commercially. We took on a trainee, Mark, who became a natural pilot, and now has his own business operating the Virgin passenger balloons fleet in Bath in the summer, and Bagan Balloons in Myanmar, in the winter months. Feeling proud of our protege, we met him and his crew and passengers as the huge balloons were being inflated for a one-hour flight over the Somerset countryside. Mark introduced Peter to his passengers, as ‘…the man who taught me everything I know…’ Then we watched with nostalgia as he lifted off and floated away, me with tears in my eyes and Peter holding his back. It seemed so long ago but we suddenly wished we could do it all again.

Old times and memories visited with lots of friends, we drove south to spend an overnight with ex-Noosa writing colleague, Jennifer, and her husband, followed by more overnights – Winchester Cathedral, where we gazed upon Jane Austen’s tomb, then on to Salisbury Cathedral, where Peter climbed the 322 steps up, and back, to the base of the tallest spire in England, while I went to scrutinise the original Magna Carta and made a dove for world peace.  Because, just over two months after the nerve agent attack in Salisbury and with the clean-up operation underway, the Cathedral is hosting a major art installation that carries a message of resilience, peace and hope. Les Colombes by multimedia artist Michael Pendry features a flock of around 2,500 white origami doves that ‘fly’ the length of the Cathedral nave.

Then a trip to London by Peter to attend his Daily Express Old Boys’ reunion, First Tuesday, in the Old Bank of England pub in Fleet Street (yes, it really was the Old Bank of England in its day!); and, a week later, an invitation to join the esteemed members of ‘The World’s Best Lunch Club’ at the new Joe Allen’s in Covent Garden. Attendees comprise ex-journos with many tales to recall and reminisce about, and the invitation asked only that he ‘show up, drink lots of wine, and talk loads of nonsense’. He seems to have fulfilled all the requirements as the post-lunch email came back with the comment, ‘You talked a wonderful load of bollocks. Not many pass this difficult task but you came through with flying colours. Consider yourself an honorary member of the club!’

A quick pit-stop and we were off again – this time to Kent. The garden of England. More memories and nostalgic moments, old friends and very old friendships. So much to talk about to catch up with each other’s news. Back in Broadstairs we thought we’d stay in Bleak House. Skylining the headland as it has done since Dickens’ days there, where he put quill to parchment and wrote David Copperfield. Peter sat at Dickens’ writing desk, hoping for inspiration, but the so-called hotel part of the house was a real disappointment – truly Dickensian, and bleak…!

Our last day in Kent was reminiscent of… it’s one-o-clock, time for lunch with friends in Sevenoaks – Oh! it’s four o’clock – time for a dash to East Sussex and afternoon tea with other dear friends, and, ah, wait a minute – if we rush, we’ll still make it for dinner in Horsham.

Hence this long-awaited pit-stop and personal maintenance week…kick back, refresh and enjoy the peace and quiet of the Essex countryside, surrounded by blue fields of linseed, horseback riders and hens clucking round the door of our beautiful rented converted barn, providing fresh eggs for breakfast…

Next stop – the Emerald Isle.