Now you don't.
We're back. Honestly, it's like we never went away. Unless you look into the kitchen, of course, where you'll find all the clothes we own stacked in bags waiting to go into the washing machine.
You know you're middle aged when you get back from a holiday and the first thing you think to blog about is how much laundry you have to do.
But it's been a hard week for feeling elderly. We kicked off the week with my half-brother's wedding (I have two half-brothers. Does that make a whole one?) where everyone was ten years younger than me. Also they were pink, and healthy, and outdoorsy, which I never was, and partied till the early hours, which I never did. So that was even worse.
And then there was the hobbling. You remember that bad knee? The one that was just beginning to feel normal again? What kind of sane woman would hire bikes and cycle further in one morning than she had in the last twenty years with a knee like that? Dragging along an eight-year-old, a picnic and a set of crutches in a sturdy little trailer?
No sane woman. No sane woman. Only the kind of idiot woman who wants a knee the size of a balloon all over again. Only the kind of idiot woman who likes limping, and wants to do it for weeks on end.
But just for those few hours, it was worth it. See how fast I was! Too fast to even photograph, that's how fast!
Anyway, it was a good week, and Nottinghamshire is a good place to go. Stressful (we have kids, remember?) but good. But who knows what will stand the test of time - will the Little Lattes remember eating fresh yellow plums, picked from the orchard where we were camping?
Or their weary and increasingly irate parents, hissing 'JUST GO TO SLEEP' (that's the abridged version) at them through a dark tent flap?
See this tree? That's the Major Oak, Sherwood Forest, that is.
I learned loads about Robin Hood. I must tell you all about it.
But not now. Now I need to hobble up and down the stairs with my piles of laundry.
So I'll leave you with our favourite in-car holiday song.