Humble holiday hints.

Many years ago, a friendly Essex boy offered me useful advice when I navigated my way through nightclubbing in Tel Aviv.

“Don’t concentrate on the comedown, mate!” he shouted through deafening beats, pumping out from oversized loudspeakers, as I came crashing in from an oh-so-temporary techno haven-heaven that had just disappeared from somewhere beyond.

He became a true and lasting friend.

Today, in a remote spot some 200 miles from London, where buzzards spy and foxes prowl for lamb rather than your old lunch, he and his family are living life at a slower pace. A circus wagon, quietly bedded in among fields and rolling hills, humbly hints at a different way.

He battles timber and trees, she transforms chunks of wood into cabinets, shelves and toys. The kids roam free and take on life in their stride, all while Bob, the horse, munches the greenest of grass.

A bank holiday with these guys, and it’s harder than usual to relish the London rat race rut…