Occasionally I feel the need to warn the children of hidden perils in the world. For them, it might be strangers in hedgerows or on online forums.

For me, it’s bookshops that are best avoided. Whatever the state of my bank balance, stepping over the threshold of Mostly Books makes my credit rating plummet to Greek levels of misery. I can’t resist the promise of other worlds and tasty tales, and leave with bulging bags stretching my arms to orangutan lengths. There’s nothing like the smell of a crisp new novel, a story lurking tantalisingly beneath the covers. It’s opium for mums confined to home by bedtimes.

But now I am considering, with the click of a mouse, downloading novels to a screen, a betrayal akin to Luke Skywalker popping in for elevenses with Darth Vader. You see, this summer we’re pushing the boat out and heading for Turkish delight. Not literally because, with three children to transport, I prefer to take a flight.

We’ve opted for a no-frills airline, which will be fine as long as the pilot isn’t a frill. And after years of holidaying in the UK, it came as a surprise to discover luggage counts as an optional extra for a trip abroad. And £20 per suitcase soon mounts up when travelling with a small tribe. I first toyed with booking us into a naturist resort, but seeing the sights would have taken on a whole new meaning. So we will be treating ourselves to a shared wheelie case.

Although I was economical with the extras, I picked travel insurance based not on levels of voluntary excess (cut the quips – this isn’t about binge drinking) but because The Daughter is desperate for a meerkat. So now a miniature Aleksandr is on his way to us across Europe, sending postcards en route. Simples! The children asked whether he’d paid extra for a suitcase. I just hope he had a Kindle in his hand luggage.