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Domes of Elounda: The Haute Living Holiday (With Kids)

When Mr AMR and I first had Angelica, we vowed never to take a holiday abroad for at least five years. Just getting to Sainsbury’s was enough of a faff – getting her into the car seat, getting her out again for a feed and a change, stopping for another feed halfway down the dual carriageway, getting her into the buggy – we couldn’t begin to imagine what going abroad would be like.

Then we had Ted, a year and a half later, and the faff didn’t just double – it tripled. Two buggies, or one gargantuan megatron buggy, no other space in the boot for the shopping, relay nappy-changing trips to the toilets, vom-poo-vom-wee-wee incidents, lost shoes, hangry rants at the tills. We very firmly decided that holidays, for the foreseeable future, would not be for us.

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