WHAT'S that people say about needing a holiday to get over a holiday?

If my experience of the past week is anything to go by, never a truer word has been spoken.

As every woman who has ever been on a self-catering family holiday knows, packing takes light years. You make check-lists longer than your beach towel. (I was going to say Lilo, but they seem to have gone out of fashion in favour of Polystyrene surf boards which everyone, from toddlers to adults, seems to own).

It just goes on and on, clothing, bedding, medicines, camera, beach stuff for a fortnight before you wake up in the night, remembering odd items like flip-flops, kites and sun hats.

With the car packed to the gills, we set off for the east coast in blazing sunshine, only to find every road harbouring tailbacks for as far as the eye could see. After trying three different routes we ended up taking a road that looked fine on the map, but after a couple of miles turned into the sort of track that would challenge a Chieftain tank.

It didn't look as if anyone else had used the road in years and with the fuel gauge on red and a forest up ahead, I didn't want to risk going further and ending up in a backwater populated by 'Deliverance'-type characters.

So, with great difficulty, we turned round and headed back. An alternative route took us further out of our way, but was at least built for use by wheeled vehicles. Thankfully, the fuel held out and we made it to the cottage.

The week started off fine, staying sunny for as long as it took the children to soak every item of clothing and every towel in the suitcase. But as soon as I hung everything out to dry on Sunday night it started to pour down.

Now I can't pretend it was anything like the rain experienced by the inhabitants of Boscastle, but it was heavy and prolonged and didn't let up for two days. Every time I spotted a whitish-looking cloud (among the huge grey mass), I would announce that it was clearing up. But it never did.

It was warm, so of course we still went on the beach -- children don't seem to notice rain -- but slogging home in wet clothing was not pleasant, and drying clothes all over the place is even less so. The rest of the week was patchy, but the rain won the day.

Our daughters made friends, which was great, but they were so excited at the prospect of seeing them every day that they were up at 7am -- on holiday they usually sleep until eight or even nine.

And their usual bedtime was extended by at least an hour, so by the time my husband and I got to sit down we were too exhausted even to admire the view.

The sun finally appeared on the day we were due to leave, so we took advantage and spent the day on the beach.

Partially rested, we set off home only to have the car break down -- on Blue Bank near Whitby, one of the steepest banks in Yorkshire. A visit from vehicle recovery and we were off, but I didn't dare risk the moorland road. Instead we took the main road in the opposite direction, to my parents' house.

We finally made it home the following evening -- only to have to get up early for work the next day. Was it worth it? Of course, every holiday is to be cherished, whatever the weather -- but I do need a week alone at a health spa to get my energy back.