I can't even remember when it was that I first went to France. I think I was in Class 8 at primary school, but what age I was then I have no idea. What I do remember is that Kate Rodgers had been somewhere learnt the word "betrothed" (precocious if you ask me), and I was hers (through no action or inclination on my part!). She hounded me until I set a date for us to get "married", and I wisely chose a date that was smack in the middle of my first holiday abroad!

My family went to France twice on camping holidays, both times with Eurocamp, both times staying in these large tent-like affairs which were more like small houses. They gave me a rather favourable impression of tents, which led to disappointment on my first sight of the tiny things I was to sleep in on Duke of Edinburgh expeditions...

But anyway - on our first trip to France, we went to La Trinité sur Mer, Perros Guirec, and Royan; on our second we returned to La Trinité, and also went to Paris, St Valéry sur Somme, and somewhere beginning with M that had big waves! It may have been called Messanges, but I'm just guessing.

To this day, apart from Paris, I have no idea where all of these places are, aside from their being in France. The only clues I have are that we had a day trip to Quiberon in Brittany on one occasion, and at another point, we were driving around the French Pyrenees.

To cover this much of France, we spent a lot of time in the car, which gave rise to all sorts of events which are amusing in hindsight - three children feeling violently ill in one car; my favourite cuddly toy spending a few days in a bucket of water to lose that persistent smell of vomit; Dad filling the car up with diesel instead of petrol, and having to have the tank emptied in a local garage...

Most of these places had beaches, and I recall spending a lot of time building sand castles, sand cities, and complex canal systems (although I'd never heard of Venice) - these beach days were also my first introduction to the perils of too much sun, dry skin, and peeling, and also to sandwiches that actually included grains of sand.

When we weren't on the beach, we were out seeing the local sights - standing stones in Brittany, manor houses in... er... those other places, a zoo somewhere, the mountains, the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe in Paris, etc. To this day I am pleasantly surprised to see that I didn't buy too much tack as a child. There was a crappy purse in the shape of a beret (why didn't someone stop me?), some Eiffel Tower nail clippers, a keyring with a fish on it (which I still have!), a miniature Eiffel Tower (which I later broke), and a spoon, when I thought it might be interesting to collect spoons (not a habit which stuck, thank goodness).

My favourite and worst memories of France are from the same place - Perros Guirec. This place had loads of wonderfully shaped stones everywhere, including a massive one opposite our tent. One morning, my brother and I decided to abduct my sister's bedtime companion, Bunny (we had such imaginatively named cuddly toys - Blue Ted, Mousey, Bunny, etc. This propensity for plain speaking seems to have disappeared in me at some point, probably as a result of studying languages for so long). At any rate, my sister (seven years older than me) was much distressed to discover that her darling Bunny was held captive atop a rock which she was reluctant to climb herself. It still makes me smile. Of course, we gave it back, and Bunny is still a fixture in my sister's house, although she's now in her thirties.

The unpleasant memory (which I'm not sure I should mention, because it's a little embarrassing), was being chased by a loud, barking dog around a play area, until I managed to climb another of those boulders. I have to admit (to my eternal shame) that I was sincerely terrified of that tiny Pekingese, and the horrid creature practically reduced me to tears. In my defence, I was only a very young child, but this didn't seem to provoke much sympathy from my family, who all thought it was hilarious. Bastards.

Not much else remains in my memories from those trips, so I'll just list what vague images and tastes remain: French (naturally) onion soup, my brother shouting "oh lait!" at a bullfight, Orangina, WW2 bunkers, French (again) fries, Edam cheese and ready salted crisps, card games, flamingos, the wally wagon train at Messanges, looking for rice in a treasure hunt in St Valéry, no-one speaking French, my sister's adolescent tantrum on the Métro, all of us wearing clothes I'm now wholeheartedly ashamed of, rolling up sleeping bags, and lying on a sunbed which collapsed under me.