The half term break, and travelling through the night to Cornwall seemed like a great plan. Quiet roads, and a peacefully sleeping child as opposed to jams of traffic and a wide-awake, fidgety one (taking the train was not an option; we could've taken us and the extended family to the Caribbean for the equivalent cost).

Tuesday night, 8.15 pm. Charlie slept wonderfully, propped up on pillows and wrapped up in duvet until 1.30 am when I pulled into services past Bristol for a rest. Not thinking, I headed for a quiet parking spot near some trees- in the blinding light of a million watt floodlight. 'Ping!'- his eyes opened, he glanced around, and that was that.

Anyway, he was very good, and quite content to stare dreamily at his colour- changing skeleton laser sword thing in the darkness while humming to the radio, intermittently slapping Halloween stickers on the car window.

All was going swimmingly until I switched the sat-nav on along the A30; trying to read detailed instructions in the dark while driving is hopeless. That's when the wild goose chase began. Not one sign for Newquay or any goose for a disturbingly long time. I phoned Andy, my boyfriend. 4am, and of course I woke him up, and he was all sleepy. Unfortunately, this doesn't register with the somewhat distressed, wide awake person.

"You shouldn't have taken that turning" he said in a slow drawl.

"I know that now! Which way should I go? I'm outside Bodmin Jail."

"I don't know. I don't know the entire area, you need to find a sign for Newquay."

(Hysterically) "There aren't any! Anywhere! Why aren't you trying to help me?! You sound like you couldn't care less we're lost!"

"I've just woken up.. Calm down will you!" Etc.

I spotted a Premier Inn. I'd had enough of driving around without the faintest idea where we were. If your boyfriend tells you that you should've brought a map at 4.30am, it just doesn't wash. And not knowing how to pronounce place-names on signs makes you feel extra lost. We belted across the car park in the rain, and belted back again when the receptionist told us it was full (Tuesday is their busiest night, apparently).

Running across the rain sodden car park in pyjamas and dressing gown, he fell over in the wet. I could see he was trying hard not to cry- his sweetness seeming to make matters worse.

After following a horribly complicated set of directions drawn up by the receptionist we finally arrived somewhere near Newquay, and Andy drove out to meet us and guide us home.

We were supposed to meet at a roundabout outside the town. I got the wrong roundabout.

"You're where?" said Andy, exasperated. "I'll have to keep driving along this road then turn around."

Just keep going if you want" I snapped (I can be so mean).

Getting into bed felt like heaven that night (or morning). Andy slept on the sofa. Navigational issues are one of the common causes of divorce, like putting up tents.

The sun had risen beautifully in a blue sky over the beach from the view on the apartment balcony the next morning. Cornwall is turning out to be well worth the trip.