“My dad’s already talking about going to Cyprus together (and we’ve just come back)”

My dad’s already talking about going to Cyprus together – which wouldn’t be that strange, if we hadn’t just come back.

In fact, we hadn’t even made our way to the airport – or left the inner sanctum of the hotel resort in Limassol – when my 70-year-old father sprinted (yes, sprinted) ahead to try and reserve the same rooms next year, leaving the rest of us rolling our suitcases into the lobby.

When I was younger – before I became a parent – it would have felt like torture to envisage going on a full Richards family break; particularly with partners and kids in tow.

Yet, fast forward a few years (and a divorce) later and I can genuinely say it has become the highlight of my holidaying year.

Being a single parent means that my own three-person “holidays” – while wholesome, bonding and full of fun – don’t end up feeling like much of a break at all; given that there’s only one adult to build sandcastles, dive to the bottom of the pool to rescue stray goggles and to choose restaurants: me (not to mention the fact that I also have to pay for everything).

But the hardest thing by far about holidaying alone with my children is the feeling of responsibility. I get so anxious, planning where to go; where to stay; which airport to go to and what time to fly – not to mention packing for us all (and having to remember the vital associated stuffed animals, without whose attendance the holiday would be ruined). When we are away, after the kids go to bed and it’s time for a sundowner, it’s just Me, Myself and I. In those situations, “relaxation” can sometimes feel incredibly lonely.

So, about three years ago, when my dad suggested we join forces and go away en masse – my brother, sister-in-law and baby niece too – I was a little apprehensive, but also excited to find out what a big group vaycay could feel like.

And now, having survived a third annual visit to Cyprus, I can say – hand on heart – that it is the thing I most look forward to every year.

Of course, there are annoyances – it wouldn’t be a family holiday if there weren’t. Truth be told, after the first time, I didn’t think any of us would be quite so enthusiastic to repeat the intense eight-day-long full trip away with parents, grandparents and Gen Alpha nieces and nephews, but the luxury five-star Amathus Beach Hotel with its plush “all you can eat” buffet might have had something to do with it. I’m serious: we’re talking an entire honeycomb, dripping with fresh honey to put on three different types of yoghurt; an order-your-own omelette station, a fresh orange juice squeezer (not its technical name, probably) and tumbling croissant display: almond, chocolate, pistachio, plain. Eggs were fried, poached, scrambled and baked to order; there was halloumi, smoked salmon and hash browns – and you could go up for seconds, or even thirds (I know). I think I died and went to breakfast heaven.

I have long held the belief that the main draw of a hotel is a hotel breakfast – but this epic feast was repeated at lunch and dinner, too. Plus, I’m also a firm believer that if you want to holiday in harmony, then a lot rests on the food. There’s nothing quite like bonding over a hot, fresh breadbasket on an empty stomach – the hummus, as they say, is where the heart is.

At home, my mum has always cooked for the family as an expression of her love and my most tender memories are of the full English breakfast we’d have, all together, on a Sunday – followed by a roast in the evening. But Mum deserved a proper rest, this year – and that’s why I was so grateful that on the times we ventured outside of the resort, booking a table for eight was surprisingly easy. We ventured in a taxi up the winding mountain road to the local taverna, where we found a true gem: ate homecooked meze (top tip: don’t fill up on the amazing pita, tzatziki, tomato salad and taramasalata – there are at least ten other courses to come; each one more delicious and more filling than the last).

From slow-cooked kleftiko to stuffed vine leaves to beef stew – topped off with a hearty dollop of moussaka – each time we meze-ed I swear I ate more than I have ever eaten in my life; for the grand price of no more than 24 Euros per person. Outstanding value, and the Ouzo kept everybody smiling (especially grandad).

Oh, and the fish – I can’t talk about Cyprus without mentioning the local fish restaurants serving up mussels cooked in cream; king prawns, perfectly barbecued; calamari so fresh they practically melt in your mouth; an entire sea bass baked in a little olive oil and lemon for about 15 Euros, tops.

How to avoid epic family arguments, when you’re eating breakfast, lunch and dinner together three times a day? Just keep eating. If everybody has their mouth full, nobody can mention that Christmas in 1996. Sorted!

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