Back in 2003, my three young sons, then 8, 9 and 11 first set foot in a warm sea . . . and they have never forgotten it. "Sardinia, " they shouted when I asked them where was the best place I'd ever taken them.

When I joined the ranks of cash-strapped single mothers a couple of years earlier, cheap flights were coming into their own and I was determined to make the most of them.

There were few direct flights, so holidays meant a packed schoolbag and a mad sprint across Stansted airport. After catching an early flight from Dublin, we were immersed in the Sardinian sea by 2.30pm. La Mariposa, the first campsite to open in Sardinia in 1956, is a 10minute taxi ride from the airport and right on the beach. Our two-bunked chalet cost 11 each a night and the shop and cafe on site had excellent, cheap local fare.

www. lamariposa. it CLARE I NN, DROMOLAND Mention of the Clare Inn still makes the children go misty-eyed, and to be honest I'm not sure why. It was February half-term and there were cheap offers on family rooms. In mid-December I'd taken them on a package to Tunisia, which had been a bit of a disappointment . . .

the weather was cold and the place unremittingly touristy. I managed a couple of escapes in local taxis to Berber villages.

The boys hated these attempts at authenticity.

All they wanted was a hotel pool and other kids to play with. The Clare Inn offered this in abundance, plus a bouncy castle, a spacious games room, billiards and videos. What they liked most was having the run of the hotel and evading my charge. There were kids everywhere, including a posse of Irish dancers there for a competition.

Best of all they were served their tea in a separate room, independent of adults.

Bliss.

www. lynchotels. com ALTON TOWERS, S TAFFORDSHIRE The setting is rural with lots of open space, a large lake and the real Alton Towers, a gothic stately home, as the centrepiece.

There isn't the frenzy of most theme parks and the kids said the rides were better than at Disneyland Paris (Paris itself they liked . . . rolling down the hill in front of Sacre Coeur, negotiating the metro, riding ponies and sailing boats in the Jardin des Tuilleries). We've been to Alton Towers for two years running and will probably go again as even the eldest, now 14, finds things to get excited about. One ride we go on together is a ghost train where you have to shoot at monsters with a laser gun and clock up a score. Does wonders for your concentration. In the action photos we look like something out of a Bond movie.

www. staffordshire. gov. uk/to urism FRENCH CAMPSITES The summer of 2004 can be summed up in one word . . . waterslides. The boys slid down them from Brittany to Biarritz. We then crossed over the Pyrenees and worked our way back up through the centre of France, sliding down some more. They even began to recognise different waterslide manufacturers.

Holidays were transformed when I swapped the car for a hightop VW camper. Initial forays to Wales were a bit of a washout, though there is one thing to be said for Wales, there is always a butterfly farm, a castle or a transport museum to hand. But French campsites are the undoubted favourites. Le Moteno in Brittany and Cote d'Argent in the Gironde ranked high.

www. lemoteno. com, www. ccs33. com LONDON A winter weekend in London gave the kids an unprecedented glimpse into their mother's former life. Camden Town market shocked them . . . tattoo parlours, Goths. They eyed me with suspicion and a grudging respect. The market had expanded a lot since I lived in Camden in the 1980s and seeing it through their eyes, I acknowledged the area had a certain seediness. They remember it, though, and the London trip is one of their favourites. We jumped on buses (with our family travel pass) and had surprise tours round the city. The Tate Modern, the London Eye and the Science Museum went down well. The Grange group of hotels does good last-minute deals.

www. grangehotels. com VENICE Looking at the wonder on the boys' faces as we glided down the Grand Canal in Venice made it all worthwhile . . . the dawn start, changing planes, the hours scouring the internet for an affordable hotel.

When the water taxi sailed on past the nearest stop, I started to worry. It was nearly three in the morning.

The boys dozed at the shelter as we waited for a vaporetto back in the other direction. I considered trying to negotiate the back streets, but decided against it. Eventually we were dropped right by the hotel, near the Rialto Bridge.

There followed four glorious days of wandering the streets and waterways of a city unlike any other. It was mid-December 2002.

The city was quiet, the flights were free and the hotel cost 25 each per night.

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