TWENTY-FOUR hours before B-Day I got panicky. Four mums and seven children, aged from two to 12, are heading to an island off north Wales that has no cars, no inside plumbing and no electricity, which means nothing with a plug to keep this wired generation amused.
I ring the organiser who is shipping us to Bardsey Island but he reassures me they will spend at least one day watching the seals that congregate on the beach at low tide and gives the impression that we will be hard-pressed to pack everything in to two days.
Now, I seriously doubted that a live natural history programme would keep the rabble amused longer than a commercial break and, given the island is just a mile and a half long and half a mile wide, I feared they would be bored after just a couple of hours. But I dug out the sleeping bags and prayed the sun would keep shining.
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Bardsey Island lies like a shimmering stone off the westernmost tip off the Llyn Peninsula separated from the mainland by Bardsey Sound. It has one of the UK's most important bird populations and is a staging post for some of the rarest seasonal visitors, all recorded by the Bird and Field Observatory that was established here in 1953.
Seals and dolphins hug the clear waters of its coastline and in 1986 it became a National Nature reserve much to the delight of the Bardsey Island Trust which bought the island seven years before.
The Trust runs it still and rents out the now refurbished farmhouses to visitors to help bring in much needed revenue and protect and preserve the island's unique character and landscape.
Mysterious
It is a delicate balance between preserving the mysterious solitude and wildlife of Bardsey and generating enough income to maintain the now listed buildings and the livelihoods of the six people who live here all year round.
Getting to Bardsey is an adventure in itself. The less agile can make the journey from Pwllheli, but, if you are able, head round the peninsular and park in a farmer's field just outside the pretty village of Aberdaran.
A half-mile walk down a narrow track, there's a dinghy to take you out to the bigger boat moored off-shore.
There's no late-night Spar on Bardsey so whatever you need you have to transport with you. In a flurry of sea spray we arrived on-shore and the bored urban children transformed into the Famous Five plus two mini wannabees and without a backward glance raced away to find the right farmhouse.
There are seven on the island ranging from a tiny whitewashed cottage to Nant and Hendy, a pair of sturdy semis which together can sleep 13. Accommodation here is as it was when they were built, whitewashed walls, dark wooden floors and kitchens with slate and stone for worksurfaces. The cooker and fridge are powered by gas and most of the year there is running water, although it needs to be boiled and filtered and you wash in water from the rain butt.
Drinking water you have to bring with you from the mainland and while there is a gas lamp in each house, candlelight is gentler downstairs and torches safer upstairs.
So what did we do? Well initially natural instincts prevailed and we headed back down the track to the handmade sign that boasted tea and cakes.
We found Libby Barnden who arrived from Sussex seven years ago with husband David to run the island's single farm. On ferry days she bakes cakes and makes tea and you put whatever amount you see fit in the honesty tin.
What else? Well, we played rounders, explored the cliffs and looked for jellyfish, walked the western side of the island and did spend hours watching the seals.
The Famous Five invented treasure hunts, painted rocks collected from the beach, lay on the grass at midnight, trying to make sense of the stars, and went fishing.
We stayed two nights on Bardsey and it wasn't long enough. The Famous Five were not bored for a second, and, waiting for the boat to the mainland, one asked if we could come back.
"Of course."
"When? Next week?"
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