This week Marion reminisces about holidays past.

I have just returned from a holiday in Tunisia.

Different sights and smells - spices mixed with the odd waft of sewage, but with glorious warmth for my old bones.

But I don’t neglect the beauty of my own country and this year have taken two caravan holidays (newspaper promotions are marvellous value) and had a weekend in Chester.

Sat on the hotel beach with a cool drink on my 77th birthday it occurred to me that I am still making memories, and the child within - I think we all have a child within - thinks, “How ever did that little girl from Regent Street end up travelling the world?”

With two hours to check in, a three hour flight and an hour to claim our baggage we were in our hotel within six hours.

Many years ago most people’s first time abroad was when they fought for their country - and sadly many of them lost their lives.

Whenever I am on holiday I shed tears for my daughter who told me on Christmas Day 2005 that the next holiday I took she was coming too.

But, as regular readers of this column will know, Julie sadly died in January, 2006.

One day I will share my memories of her with you.

For my first husband, and many of his generation, the urge to travel began after being posted abroad during their national service

However when he returned and we married our priority was to save for our own home - which we did.

But after viewing a McGill house in Kingswood and then seeking a mortgage we were unsuccessful.

In those days banks and building societies were very cautious about lending.

Neither my husband’s overtime or my salary could be taken into account.

So we applied for council accommodation and after six months, much to our surprise, we were offered a lovely two bedroom flat in Farleigh Road, Keynsham.

Once we were settled my dear husband persuaded me to set off for parts unknown - that being, in those days, France and Spain.

With no real idea where were going mum bade me a sad farewell, convinced she would never see me again.

Setting off on the cross channel ferry we caught a train to Paris where we spent three days - and almost sleepless nights - enjoying the left bank, Champs Elysees, and, to my husband’s delight, the Folies Bergere.

We had one amusing incident before we left.

Both needing the toilet one day we spotted a sign and ventured down some steps.

Once at the bottom my husband thought we would go our separate ways.

But there was only one entrance through it we could see a line of stalls about knee height at the bottom and shoulder height on the top.

It was obvious by the shoes it was what nowadays you would call a unisex toilet.

My husband fled, but either my need was greater, or I was a forward hussy, because I entered one of the stalls.

As I sat down a voice to my right courteously wished me, “Bon Matin.”

I risked a glance and the gentleman raised his hat.

After that incident we made our way by rather tatty transport to San Sebastian, in Spain.

or ten blissful days we swam in the warm sea, sampled tapas, ate five course lunches and eight course dinners and paid a visit to my one and only bullfight.

I appreciated the pageantry, but unfortunately didn’t realise, until it was too late, the cruelty.

One day, as I attempted to leave the hotel wearing loose linen slacks and a blouse, the manager chased after me to inform me that Spanish ladies did not wear slacks.

I could, he said, be arrested for indecent behaviour.

I thought it was a bit of a cheek - after all the night before we had gone to a Flamenco where the male dancers had worn splendidly indecent tight black trousers.

We rounded off our evenings in Spain with tall glasses of lemonade and martini.

What sophisticates we were.

And if we got back to our hotel after 11pm we clapped our hands for the chatelaine, who wore all the hotel keys around her voluminous waist, to open the gates.

Sadly, soon after we returned dad died.

We examined our priorities and decided to start a family.

There always to be some sort of scam going on these days.

While out walking on our last holiday we were stopped by a “waiter” from our hotel on his “day off.”

He would, he said, show us his country for free. But since he couldn’t actually name the hotel we declined.

Take care, Marion.