THERE are tears and tantrums in our house at the moment and it’s not just me. It’s the end of term and everyone is exhausted.

Tummy aches and headaches appear at bedtime with regularity but are strangely absent when ice-creams or a trip to the park are mentioned.

We all need a break and I have designated the first two days of the holidays as pyjama days. We will luxuriate in not having to put on a school uniform or, for me, work clothes.

There will be no timetable of events, no standing in lines and definitely NO packed lunches.

We will, in effect, turn feral.

Then, of course, I will be staring down the barrel of six weeks with wild children and I may need to impose some sort of holiday law, but it will be a very loose order indeed.

No overseas jaunt for us this year but several camping trips with groups of friends.

As well as suiting the budget, this also suits the mood and will sit well with the frontier feeling.

My children do not need to be cooped up in a villa this year but rather need to run wild in a wood bashing things with sticks.

Whilst tending to the welfare of my growing family this summer I will also spare a few hours to tend to the needs of my allotment.

For husband this is his first summer as a grower and he is particularly proud of his pumpkins.

He has grown Atlantic Giants for the children and judging by the size of the leaves already, which we could happy set sail for the Med on, he could be onto a winner.

He has already mentioned the Stratton and Baunton Horticultural Show in a sort of post-modern ironic way but I’m convinced that he is actually serious.

When it comes to showing produce, husband is convinced that size does matter.