Cliff notes

The Irish holiday continues with a two-night stay in The Cliff House Hotel in County Waterford, one of the 'finest small luxury five-star hotels in Ireland'. Overlooking the mile-long sands of Ardmore, the entrance at road level is near the top of the hotel – the rest cascades down the cliff with views out to sea from the bar, restaurant and every one of the guest rooms. We're in the Arran House, named after the Arran-jumper art on the wall of the stairwell. Yes, our suite has stairs – a living room downstairs and a loft-style bedroom above with floor-to-ceiling glass doors opening on to a private terrace. Even the glass-sided rainforest shower has an ocean view. Furniture is a stylish mix of 18th-century antique finds, chic contemporary tweeds and all the mod cons you could possibly need – even music piped to the shower.

Our Arran-jumper art

It's in a grand spot and for me there's a fine cliff walk on the doorstep, a five kilometre trail following in the footsteps of the fifth-century Munster saint St Declan, who founded a monastery here. Archaeological remains include a holy well and St Declan's cell, as well as the ruins of a 12th-century cathedral, and an unusual round tower in the middle of a churchyard, possibly 12th-century, with its entrance up on the first floor. St Declan is reputed to have preceded St Patrick in bringing Christianity to Ireland.

St Declan's Way

St Declan's church

The round tower

The food is out of this world. Dutch chef Martijn Kajuiter presides over the one-Michelin-starred The House Restaurant where we're served the tasting menu (the high point of my vegetarian life). Wine is paired with every course and highlights include edible-clay wrapped new potatoes, beetroot macaroons held together with goat's cheese. A rhubarb, honey and ginger dessert arrives in a swirl of mist under a glass dome. I have memories of a dish accompanied by the lightest scrambled-egg foam, and greens tingling with freshness and flavour. Herbs come from the chef's garden, which clings to the cliff at the side of the building. The exquisite fare renders Chris speechless, until I embarrass him by taking photos of the food. And spilling some wine.

Edible-clay new potatoes and beetroot meringues

We have plenty of time to enjoy the infinity pool. On the last morning I'm up with the lark to do some lengths and have the whole place to myself. We find the outdoor hot tub, too, and while exploring I discover a couple of seaweed baths, with hot water pouring over a few kilos of the green slimy stuff. Must remember not to try this one at home.

Poolside contemplation

We drive to the historic walled seaport of Youghal nearby, on the estuary of the River Blackwater. It seems to have been a hugely important port in the past and we do a quick tour of the crumbling Norman fortifications, and the clock towers that served as gaols, where people were thrown out of the windows to slowly throttle. It's warm enough to picnic in the elevated College gardens, with a view of the sea over the Georgian rooftops.

View over Youghal

Everyone seems to have notched up a spell here, from the Vikings, who used Youghal as a base for raids, to Sir Walter Raleigh, who had a residence in the town and even became mayor for two years – indeed, Sir Walter first brought potatoes from Virginia to Ireland and planted them at his home here. The town experienced a later brush with fame Hollywood-style when it was a location for the 1956 film Moby Dick, starring Gregory Peck. One of the seafront pubs was used as Captain Ahab's local. Chris enjoys an excellent pint of stout.

A stout a day...

Back at the hotel we have a last few hours so we skim stones on the mile-long beach and watch paddle boarders shimmying in to shore. Just before leaving, we notice a framed Seamus Heaney poem pinned to a side wall. A closer look reveals a personalised message – it seems he was as delighted with the Cliff House Hotel as we are.

Skimming stones on Ardmore sands

Heaney's thank you note

Irish highs

Following a winter’s worth of precipitation, Ireland is looking particularly emerald right now. Chris and I are over in County Kerry for his father Michael’s birthday-and-Easter-combined bash. He and Jane’s cottage, Seal Rock (kenmareirishcottages.com), is half an hour’s drive from Kenmare along the Iveragh peninsula. The cottage sits at the end of Rossmore Island, which is connected to the mainland by a tiny bridge. Just over the bridge is a lovely and quirky little hotel, the Tahilla Cove, where we drop in on arrival, it being cocktail hour for the Rossmore regulars.

Seal spotting from Seal Rock Cottage

The view from Seal Rock is pure drama, out towards the the mountains of the Beara and the Atlantic beyond. For now, it’s sunny and warm so we can linger on the patio and stare out to sea. 

Sea view to the Beara peninsula 

One of my pre-party jobs is to set the Easter-egg hunt. I find plenty of nooks and crannies in the dry-slate wall. In the event there are only three kids, so they average 30-odd eggs each (mini-ones, mind you).

Wall of chocolate

Turns out Mike and Jane’s bash is an upmarket affair, with a marquee, caterers, and a father-and-son singing duo to entertain us all. Chris’s cousin Anne-Louise comes up from Cork with her family – they’ve bought a couple of canoes and plan to spend Sunday pootling around the coast.

The crowd-pleasing Kellehers

Best lemon meringue pie ever

Sunday is a full Irish breakfast on the terrace, then it’s off in the open-top Merc to Parknasilla, a hotel and estate near Sneem (love that name) that was once owned by the Bishop of Limerick (grandfather of the writer Robert Graves). 

A breakfast place in the sun

We explore all the trails, then walk back to Seal Rock via a bit of the Kerry Way long-distance trail. It weaves around the back of farms, derelict cottages, over bleak moorland and back down to the almost tropical Tahilla Cove. 

Serene Parknasilla scene

Kicking off on The Kerry Way

The party bus missed the turn-off

Moving on from Seal Rock, we explore a few hidden corners of Cork and Kerry on our way to Waterford, where we're booked in to a plush hotel for a couple of days. We walk a little of the Beara Way, wild and moorish…

A barren stretch of The Beara Way

…and visit Gougane Barra, where St Finbarr established a monastic settlement in the sixth century. He went on to became the first bishop and founder of the city of Cork at the mouth of the River Lee, which has its source here at Gougane Barra. The prayer cells are still intact in the ruins of the monastery, and Mass rocks around the site have been scored by countless pilgrims, who come to honour St Finbarr by doing the 'rounds', a 13-step path of prayer.

There be pilgrims

Nearby, the more recently built oratory casts reflections in the water. The place has an undeniably spiritual feel, but it's no surprise to learn that it's also a popular backdrop for wedding photos.  

The oratory at Gougane Barra

Designs on Flaine

Flaine is the ski-resort equivalent of Marmite. There's no middle road in the appraisal of its architecture. And who better to give me a new appreciation for its concrete charms than the four architects in our group?

Langmuirs above the resort

The resort was built in the 1960s, the alpine branch of the post-war and Europe-wide wave of interest in healthy living. It was the tail end of the baby-boomer generation and families of four, five, six children were commonplace (ain't that the truth – us four siblings have 21 cousins). The family that exercises together… well, let's just say that a fit and healthy new generation was to rise from the embers of the world war, to become the moves and shakers of a brave new world. In my neck of the woods, south-east London, the new deal took the shape of a project called the Peckham Experiment, with its now-famous apartment block built around a swimming pool. France had its mountains, the outdoor gym to beat them all. So Hungarian architect and a 'boss' of Bauhaus, Marcel Breuer, was brought in to design the hub of a new resort. Highlights include the main apartment complex, the hotel with the overhang and, nestled in the midst of it all, his perfect little chapel.

Shades of concrete

I used to be among Flaine's detractors, immune to the subtlety of its shades and shadows, though no one could deny it's the ultimate in ski convenience. But having checked out the cool little exhibition on its design, and seeing the buildings in the sunshine, as well as blending into the brown of the hill, I find I like it a lot. Far from being cold and clinical, it's all warmth and approachability. 

As Marcel Breuer said: "The architecture of Flaine is an example of application of the principle of shadow and light which I adopted. The facades of the buildings are cut as points of diamond. Sunbeams strike their facets under different angles; contrasted lightings result from their reflection."

Breuer's Le Flaine hotel, with its cantilevered terrace

The understated chapel

And the modern sculptures, including a Picasso, lend quirkiness and humour to the central Forum. I still love a traditional chalet, but isn't it a joy to have both?

Top of the form: a piece by Jean Dubuffet

Spring snow

I’m taking a very late season ski break this year, the last week that many of the lifts are open, in fact. Some years ago my brother Roddy awarded Flaine the accolade of being the optimum family resort. He and his wife Kate hit upon the genius plan of taking their ski holiday at Easter, self-catering to keep costs down. Flaine is high, so there’s always snow and, for anyone with children, the piste map is cleverly designed so that all runs lead back home, to the open bowl and the village, or Forum as it’s called here. 

Cate and Kate with Mont Blanc

Roddy and Kate still come every Easter, despite the fact that this year we’re missing Mo and Chloe, who are deep in A-level revision at home. And each year, they introduce an increasing number of buddies to this unassuming resort – this year we number 25, spread across five apartments. Ability ranges from absolute beginner to former Olympian. No, really.

I’ve had a bit of a break from winter sports, apart from the odd day in the Highlands. But if anything is tailor-made to get me ski fit, it’s bombing around the pistes with family and fast friends. That and the clear blue skies we enjoy all week.

The fast-cruising crew

It’s even fun taking time out to coach nervous newcomers, and try to temper the hot-headed teenagers who don’t realise they’re out of control. Or maybe they do and that’s the thrill. 

Three teen amigos: Rory, Patrick and Benjie

The youngest in our party is a little livewire, Isolde, who happens to turn seven half way through the holiday. It’s only her second week on snow and yet she decides to make it her mission to flatten Adrian, a pal of Rod’s who is making marvellous headway, but is snowploughing through only his second day on skis. She swoops down after him like a heat-seeking missile, jacket open, hair flying, all the while cackling like a witch. Rory is none too amused when she misses her target and mows him down instead. 

Isolde in a quiet moment

There are injuries, of course. The relentless sunshine turns the snow heavy and we ratchet up a twisted knee, a split lip, and a trip in the ‘bloodwagon’ for young Tiger, in a swoon of terror on an icy piste one morning. Our transfer driver Adele turns out to be a masseur and does some work on Simon and Hugo who, to be fair, have just run the London Marathon. We all make the most of the outdoor hot tub, for muscle revival (that post-lunchtime slush is tough on the thighs), until one day when a small child tells Isolde she’s just peed in it.

All joining in by the end of the week

There are two birthdays and a wedding anniversary during the week, a chance to improvise with the limited cake opportunities on offer at the Sherpa supermarket. 

Sasha and Simon's anniversary 'cake'

Kids tea is a lively affair

Cooking is a challenge – no ovens – so we split the adults and kids suppers and take it in turns to grapple with the hobs and grills.  

Bruschetta appetisers

Over the canapés, current affairs are discussed more than is usual on a ski holiday. That’s because we have Roddy and Kate’s journalist/broadcaster friend Anne along with us (mother of three of the fearless children). Whether or not you agree with Anne’s views, it livens up the after-dinner debate, and she does cook a mean asparagus risotto.

Cream of Devon

I'm staying in a picturesque village tucked away in a valley on the eastern edge of Dartmoor. I'm not keen on that word, but there's really no other way to describe Lustleigh, with its babbling brooks, thatched cottages and quaint tearoom. 

Lustleigh churchyard

I'm here to visit family friends John and Sheila. John is one of my father's oldest and dearest friends, a climbing buddy from Cambridge days. I've known him all my life. He was with my dad when I was born, raising a glass to toast my arrival. Now I'm here to see how he's recovering from a rather severe stroke he suffered a few months ago.

Lunch with John and Sheila

Astonishingly well, is the answer. He is whizzing around the house on a wheelie-walker thing, and even managing the stairs. It's nothing short of a miracle, given how ill he seemed when we saw him in hospital just before Christmas. But if John's recovery is a miracle, then Sheila is the miracle worker, devotedly fighting his corner and somehow making things happen, so that now here he is back home, enjoying the spring sunshine and the beautiful camellia blooming in the front garden.

Camellia in exquisite bloom

  
I take a couple of walks during my stay – the valley and surrounding hills are a maze of primrose-lined paths and wooded bridleways that lead to pretty stone bridges and lush open pastures. 

Brightening up the woodland path

The old stone bridge over the River Bovey

Hardy-esque scene – the post stopped carts crossing the bridge

One of my walks circles back via the village and I pop into the Church of St John the Baptist. Parts of it date back to the 13th century and it's now a listed building. Sheila has recommended a look at the 20th-century pew-ends – positively contemporary – that featured in a TV programme. 

Pew-end by 19th-century wood-carver Herbert Read

Not far from here is Haytor, one of the rocky outcrops scattered across Dartmoor. I'm so pleased when Sheila takes a break so we can enjoy a quick stroll together in the late afternoon sunshine. We call in at Sheila's favourite farm shop and I'd have cheerfully spent a fortune on its tempting range of condiments and preserves, if only I'd remembered my purse. Next time…

Face of Haytor

Hilltop meadow at Hisley village

She belongs to Glasgow

To Glasgow, for my father's lovely partner Marion's 'surprise' 70th birthday party. I've met many of Marion's family, the MacCormicks, over the years. They're Scottish aristocracy in my book, and in a lot of people's books, being mostly descended from one of the founders of the Scottish National Party. We've certainly come to the right place for a heated debate on independence.

Scottish party people 

The venue is Marion's niece's spacious flat in Hillhead. This isn't far from where my father grew up, in a five-storey Georgian terraced house just off the Great Western Road. Dad's stamping ground was the nearby Botanic Gardens, with its Victorian glasshouse, the Kibble Palace.

My father's childhood home

Looking up inside the Kibble

Marion grew up near here too, in a top-floor flat in the prestigious Park district, with its sweeping, circular Georgian terraces overlooking Kelvingrove park and its famous museum.

Marion beneath her childhood home

I treated myself to first class on the way up to Glasgow, but Virgin's service is not a patch on East Coast Trains, with the hot water machine broken and the food offering, a snack box, containing a tiny package of nuts and a brioche rubbery enough to use as wood filler. I jump on the Metro to Hillhead, where the station's tiled entrance has been decorated by writer and artist Alasdair Gray, a tribute to this thriving, fashionable neighbourhood at the heart of Glasgow's West End. I love his quote in the middle: 'Do not let daily to-ing and fro-ing, to earn what we need to keep going, prevent what you once felt when wee, hopeful and free.'

Tiled mural at Hillhead station

Close-up of one of the panels

Marion's party is a huge success. Some 50 friends and family gather to toast her special day (though she had actually fled the country on the actual day, back in January, for a cycle tour of Rajasthan with friends). Tables groan with hams, quiches, salads, cakes and puddings. The shower serves as a great cold-store for fine wine and fizz. Reminiscence is in the air and there's robust discussion on the pros and cons of Scottish independence – my brother Sean and sister Moira, both voting this September, are foolhardy enough to ask for some clarification, which is duly and vehemently given.

The bar

Cake o'clock

The following morning, following a big family breakfast, Marion leads a few of us on a walking tour of the West End, starting at the university with its historic cloisters. We take in Kelvingrove Art Gallery and an exhibition on the Glasgow Boys school of painters.

Glasgow Uni cloisters

Spring arrives in Kelvingrove

Head set – Kelvingrove gallery

Then we hop on a bus to the Glasgow School of Art. We sign up for a tour of the Charles Rennie Mackintosh building, completed in 1909. An artist and designer as well as an architect, Mackintosh took a holistic approach to the project, extending his remit to include interior decor, furniture and fittings. It's fascinating doing the tour with my brother Roddy, an architect, and he mentions that his practice, Cullinan Architects, designed the new shower room in the director's apartment. Sadly it is currently out of bounds.

Skye at the Glasgow School of Art main entrance

Stairwell – concrete never looked better

Interior window

Opposite Mackintosh's building, an extension to the campus is in progress, a glass-panelled monolith designed by a New York architect, Steven Holl. Controversy has raged about the choice of scheme. I like it, particularly the way it wraps around one of the school's original buildings. There's a building team on site, but their main task today seems to be removing all the green panels of glass that have cracked. 'Those panels are a gift for any Glaswegian vandal,' says Rod.

Glasgow School of Art's wraparound newbuild

And so, waving goodbye to Marion, it's back on the train with Rod and Skye, computers and homework all the way.

Room with a view