In July Charlotte and Archie and Charlotte and I took a double-date trip to smug central in the South of France.
We stayed in Charlotte's family house in Le Vernet, a little village up in the mountains. All the villagers hated us immediately because we beat them at pétanque.
After one night we headed south to Sete - "the Venice of Languedoc" - where we set up camp for the weekend. We were there for the Worldwide Festival, showcasing the best music from across the globe - which happens to almost all be made on computers in Hackney and played with the bass turned up to 11.
We were staying in one of those European mega-campsites with big water slides and marauding gangs of children cycling between the supermarket and the table tennis tables. Heaven. (If you're seven).
The daytime section of the festival was based on the beach. It was like we'd wandered onto the set of those super sexy H&M bikini ads. The four of us just lurked on the periphery dragging down the average attractiveness of the crowd.
Back in the house in the hills, we played Scrabble and argued about words.
And on the last night we set up an Excel spreadsheet to calculate our holiday finances.
So that was nice