He says, She says

My family live thirteen hours away by plane, in a field (well, slightly bigger) where daily temperatures reach a sweltering 95F for at least 320 days of the year.

Wifey's family live two hours away by train in the land mass we call "North of England". You get 95F on the remaining days of the year.

Yin and yang, I suppose.

Anyway, we take the train when we head up north. A normal drive takes about four hours, but having been stuck for five-and-a-half hours on the motorway before, we (me, really) are not keen to try that mode of transport anytime soon.

Five hours is an awful long time to spend on the road, and that wasn't even including breaks. You realize how the license plate in front of you never changes.

The ride by train, though, means you're limited in terms of what you can carry. Luggage, for me, means "my rucksack and Wifey's biggest bag".

I squeeze everything I can into the rucksack, sit on it, and squeeze some more. "North of England" being what it is this time of year, it means "pack your thermals and every bit of cold or rainproof kit you have, and weed out all other stuff". This is where the army experience came in handy.

Like a regimental sergeant major, she comes over to inspect my stuff. Like regimental sergeant majors, she spots the flea on the elephant's back. "Where are your running shoes?"

I explain how they'll have to be left behind because running gear exponentially increases the size of the load. Shoes. Running kit. Extra sets of clothes. More weight. And how it's forecast to be rainy for most of those days we're there. (Normal, really.)

"My Nikes or my Mizunos?" she asks.

I decide that the trip to and from the train station will count as a training session.

Stay tuned for the "How to train on holiday" pics.