With the under 16s finally all on the long summer break, school runs are already a distant memory. School bags have been discarded at the back of cupboards with the festering remnants of the last day of term’s packed lunch preparing to be discovered in early September.

The last day was, as predicted, emotional all round.

Eldest son had his last day of primary school and there were tears from almost the whole class.

After an idyllic end of term party we scouped up the whole of team Rees and headed southwards for our annual holiday in beautiful Devon.

The end of any term is a pretty hectic affair: presents for teachers, teaching assistants and school bus drivers to be arranged and school assemblies, plays and sports days to attend.

I must admit to a slight feeling of smugness and we headed down the M5 on Friday night, at a suitably late time to avoid traffic, with the car packed to the rafters and children still in school uniform with a weather forecast looking set to rival the Costa Brava.

No holiday we’ve had has ever come close to the love we have for our beloved Bigbury-on-Sea and its blissful simplicity.

Self-congratulatory feelings soon evaporated when we discovered, at 11pm after our four-hour drive, that I had not read the small print and our beds were yet to be vacated.

Mary and Joseph may have had it tough in Bethlehem but let me tell you, it’s not until you turn up to a sleepy Devon village at approaching midnight with three grumpy, hot and tired children that you really understand the significance of ‘No room at the inn’.

And so, after a shaky start, the bags were unloaded and the fridge filled. Summer holidays are, for us, a chance to get back to basics.

No fancy clothes required, in fact nothing other than a wetsuit and a pair of flip flops is normally needed.

This year’s challenge is to learn to stand-up paddleboard.

The aim of the game is to stand upright, on something resembling a large ironing board that balances on the surface of the sea, and paddle gracefully. After many years of trying and failing to conquer surfing, it turns out that this too is going to take me years to conquer and my graceful stance looks a little more like a constipated elephant. One of the most interesting things about trying anything new is the different attitudes of the three boys.

Son number one, William, takes it steady, works out how to master it and then quickly improves until within an hour he is approaching instructor standard.

Son number two, Jack, the most natural with sports – he works the wetsuit and shaggy surf-style hair with ease – tried and fell off within the first two minutes.

Tears, kicking and tantrums quickly ensued and then a refusal to continue, with the blame for incompetence placed firmly on the surfboard.

Son number three, Charlie, was convinced he wouldn’t be able to do it and then spent the next hour laughing at his attempts.

The metaphors for life were clear to see.

For the rest of the week perhaps we’ll stick to something simpler, cricket, swimming and crabbing are our go to holiday bankers.

A week off from drilling teeth is always a welcome relief so for now it’s less about crowns, bridges and dentures and more sandcastles and barbecues. Back in a week with batteries charged but until then, I’ll be working on my paddleboarding skills. Maybe there’s time for a career change after all.