How excited the children were! Anne wrote on George's Facebook wall: “can't w8 2get2 Kirrin Island!!! :-D” while Julian could barely finish his superfood muesli. “Now,” said Daddy, “help me pack up the car.” Dick looked up from his iBook. “But Daddy,” he said, “if we travel from London to Polzeath in your Volvo, we will emit 0.11 tonnes of carbon. Do be a brick and let us get the train instead.”

The journey was delayed and took nine hours, so they had plenty of time to chatter. “Is it really only 11?” asked Anne. “I know I shall never be able to wait till lunch!” So Mummy passed round chorizo and rocket ciabatta rolls, and lashings of sparkling water infused with elderberry. “Now remember,” said Daddy, “Aunt Fanny is working on a difficult book, so don't trouble her.”

“I can see the sea!” cried Anne. And, there it was, blue and sparkling, apart from the crates of nappies and engine parts floating away from a sinking Swedish supertanker. “I say,” said Dick, “do you remember last summer when we caught Gypsies -” Julian interrupted him: “The correct term is Roma.” “Hum,” said Dick, “they certainly had to roam after we caught them hiding in Kirrin Castle. I wonder what adventures we shall have this year?” “Well,” said Daddy, “provided George's ASBO for throwing stones at fisher-boys is lifted, and a responsible adult comes along, and you don't talk to strangers, and I see Timmy's vaccination certificate, and climate change hasn't flooded it, you might go to Kirrin Island tomorrow.” “How rippingly modern and responsible!” said Dick, inputting the outing into his palmtop diary. “Rather!” agreed Julian.