We're off to Margate for the weekend, for what will be our last family holiday before the arrival of the new baby. "The great British seaside," I murmur happily, ducking my head into the mini-cab just as it whizzes off, the driver taking every residential turn at 50mph before depositing us in the middle of a dual carriageway, outside the wrong railway station. Refusing to let this minor mishap blight our time away, my husband and I consider our options, before taking the Tube to where we need to be, two stops back in the direction from which we've come.
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