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Surf the Atlantic Highway with Belinda Bennett

• WOOLACOMBE was one of the highlights of Belinda and Fern's holiday in North Devon.

• SURFTASTIC: Fern enjoys the beach at Woolacombe!

• Woolacombe has a fantastic stretch of natural beach

• Flawless sands

DURING my longed-for, two-week summer break I came to realise two things - that I'm a tad too old to comfortably enjoy the trappings of Surf City with an impressionable teenager in tow and that I've reached the age where my 'best buy' at an outlet centre was a cardigan!

I'm at the dawn of middle-age and in the twilight zone of youth. My mind is racing with great get-up-and-go ideas, but my body isn't up to fulfilling them.

This year, I have had to sacrifice my one, great pleasure - my yearly holiday in Torquay. "It's uncool," my daughter says. Rather, it's on the wrong coast!

I've allowed myself to be carried along on tidal waves of HER holiday desires - and every crest had a surfboard riding on it.

Newquay, Newquay, Newquay! That's all she talked about as I planned our trip away.

I wasn't sure. Before I parted with my hard earned cash, I suggested a long day trip to the Cornish resort, a magnet for all those with a camper van and surfboard. My daughter was in her element. Never have I seen her so glamorous and grown-up-looking. She oozed the kind of image that I could never have pulled off at her age - that of a tanned young woman; her hair immaculately straightened and her make-up almost expertly applied.

After a week of doing voluntary work, I was looking forward to our day out in Cornwall. It had to be postponed, initially, after I lost my car key. Two days after starting the search for it, and after dismantling most of my kitchen, it turned up - under the telly!

We set out at the crack of dawn, both excited by the prospect of a few hours in Britain's Surf City.

We enjoyed the journey, taking the long route via Cullompton, Barnstaple and Bideford, where we enjoyed a wonderful lunch at (believe it or not) Morrisons. Journeying on, we headed for Bude, then took a detour along the Launceston road, hoping to find a former colleague's mini-mart en-route. We found it easily, but he had taken the day off and was in Taunton! I bought a copy of the local paper, a broadsheet, to read upon my return home.

We arrived in Newquay in good time and easily found a parking space. I was pleasantly surprised by the pay and display charge - a straight £1 an hour. Good value.

Newquay was everything my daughter expected it to be - full of surfers!

I avoided Fistral and, instead, we wandered down to Towan Beach, where we claimed a fantastic viewpoint and took in the scenery. Our lasting memory will be of signs saying "No surfing". The water was full, and guess what? EVERYBODY was surfing - people of all ages, from mere toddlers to pensioners! My biggest regret is that I did not take a photograph of the signs, with surfers in the background.

A few steps away from the beach was a "gentlemen's club". It put me off the resort immediately. The very words conjured up images of strippers and lap dancers, I thought. My mind, momentarily captivated by the inclusiveness of surfing, was straight back on the Atlantic Highway home. Newquay had a seedy underbelly, I concluded.

The only thing that slightly tempted me to return to Newquay for a longer spell was the thought of staying at The Pentire Hotel. It looked great. However, when checking the internet for places to stay, I was put off once-and-for-all by one hotel which stipulated a £50 per person bond was required against "late night rowdiness and damage". Stag parties and hen nights sprang to mind. I was looking for a more peaceful holiday.

Back home, my daughter's mind was still in Newquay. "Please, please, PLEASE!" she whined, as I trawled the web for a last-minute holiday, deleting the search word 'Newquay'.
Where could I take my daughter? I wanted to take her on a mini-adventure that she would never forget. Eventually, it came to me... Lundy! A remote island off the North Devon coast, in the Atlantic Ocean, it boasts a near two-hour boat journey (each way) and the promise of some wonderful wildlife - everything from puffins to seals and even basking sharks. She was bewitched. Just like me, she was captivated by the loneliness and mystery of the rock. It HAD to be Lundy.

In an instant, I decided that we would stay in Ilfracombe and take the boat to Lundy. We packed our bags in seconds, jumped in the car and headed back to North Devon.
The journey was a breeze but, as we saw the sign to Ilfracombe, I was distracted. Pointing in another direction was the sign for Woolacombe. I recognised the place name as another resort that was popular with surfers. In a split second, I decided we could still make the trip to Lundy, even if we didn't stay in Ilfracombe.

As we headed into Woolacombe, I felt vindicated by a 'Welcome' sign that said: "Family holiday of the year."

Approaching the flawless sands on the seafront, I couldn't miss an enormous hotel. Like something on Sunset Boulevard, its name glittered metres tall on the side of the building. Sun terraces and immaculately groomed flowerbeds at the front were temptations I couldn't resist.

"We are staying THERE," I said, as I parked the car and reached for my mobile.

It was about 8pm and my daughter was concerned we'd find nowhere to stay and have to go home.

"Have faith," I reassured her.

Blimey, in ten minutes flat, we were checked in and unpacking. Staff at The Narracott Hotel, eager to fill empty rooms, let us have a good-sized twin room (en-suite) on a bed and breakfast basis for two nights at a total price of under £132. A bargain!

The room was clean, well equipped and just perfect for our needs.

Half an hour later, I was tucking into a steak meal at the pub opposite. My daughter enjoyed a burger and chips.

The hotel had an indoor swimming pool and sauna, but the beach was a bigger lure.
We woke up on Friday at around 6am and rushed down to the golden sands.

Woolacombe, which is privately owned, boasts a fantastic stretch of natural beach - not a hint of sea defence work anywhere. When you live in Lyme Regis, that's something of a novelty!

Being a lapsed non-smoker, I stopped off on the hotel's terrace for a quick puff before going in for breakfast. I met a pensioner, who lives near Nottingham. She told me she was in a party of nine staying at the hotel. We had quite a lot in common, having both stayed at the same hotels previously - the TLH resort in Torquay being just one. She said she couldn't fault The Narracott, saying she was "spoilt for choice" when it came to dinner.

However, she had a tale to tell when it came to a coach trip. "Have you heard of a place called Crediton?" she asked. She went on to explain how people on the bus trip spent less than half an hour in the town before being whisked to Exeter, on demand.

"It is the most beautiful city I have ever seen," she told me, pointing out her granddaughter is due to go to university there.

I said her granddaughter might require some financial assistance, with Exeter being one of the most expensive cities to study in. She was aware and is willing to help, she told me.
After a full English breakfast, my daughter and I headed for the shore office at Ilfracombe to book our tickets to Lundy for the next day. When the office woman opened the door, I was waiting!

"She's keen," she told a fellow worker.

The woman was honest. She said tickets had not sold out for the 8.30am sailing and that, barring a sudden rush, were unlikely to. I could pay on the day - £30 for me and £15 for my daughter. Great value. However, she warned the "unseasonal weather" could put a dampener on our plans and suggested I call a hotline number after 8.30pm. A recorded message would tell me if the trip was on. It had been cancelled twice earlier in the week.

At 9am Ilfracombe was only just stirring. My daughter and I headed for the Atlantic Highway to the Atlantic Village outlet centre, three miles the other side of Bideford. My daughter was in her element, persuading me to part with mega bucks for everything from cut-price designer trainers to tops. She reluctantly let me buy her new school clothes while we were there.

Not satisfied with that spend, she went on to talk me into going to the Green Lanes Shopping Centre in Barnstaple. We picked up some travel sickness tablets for our journey to Lundy on the way.

Barnstaple and Bideford enjoy enviable settings and were not at all the depressed places I'd always imagined them to be. I liked both towns and will certainly return.

Before the hotel car park could fill up, we returned. After a quick cuppa in our room, we spent a good few hours visiting all the surf shops in Woolacombe. My daughter just loved it, and was especially pleased when I bought her a Lifeguard sweatshirt in the trademark red and yellow that almost all young people were wearing. "Let's hire a surfboard," I suggested, thinking my daughter would jump at the chance. Not on your Nelly! She was there to WATCH surfers - boys!

At tea-time, we enjoyed a hearty meal in The Red Barn, a pub with surfboards hanging high above the bar. It had an Australian feel.

We returned to the hotel before 7pm, determined to have an early night before our crack-of-dawn departure for Lundy.

Watching the local television news, we realised the weather forecast didn't look too great. When I called the Lundy hotline at 8.30pm, a recorded message said the captain of the ship was concerned about the forecast and that he wouldn't make his decision until the morning. Passengers were advised to turn up before 7.45am.

This threw my daughter and I into a quandary. What if we left the hotel at 7am for Ilfracombe only to find the trip was cancelled? We would have checked out of the hotel without breakfast and would be stuck in Ilfracombe while the resort was only just waking.

We took a decision to put Lundy on hold until a confirmed Saturday sailing. We will just have to depart from Lyme Regis at about 4am! Cross fingers for this coming Saturday!

Instead, we hit the bar and munched our way through cheesy chips. We stayed in bed until 8am the next day and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. We walked along the beach at Woolacombe for one last time before leaving - and headed back to Atlantic Village. We figured we'd spend the money we set aside for the boat trip on yet more new clothes.

I couldn't find any trousers to fit and plumped for a cardigan. See, I'm OLD!

My daughter, meanwhile, got a Rich Bitch jacket and Golddigga top.

Then we went to ASDA, next door, and stocked up before driving home.

Woolacombe lives up to its name. It IS the Family Holiday of the Year. We will be going back, probably time and again - until my daughter feels too old to embrace the surfing culture or grows out of thinking about boys, boys, boys!

Apart from Woolacombe, the highlight of my holiday has been the Olympics. I'm not into sport normally, but have thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed watching the highlights from Beijing 2008. Our government ministers may sound confident, but can Britain honestly hope to top China's opening ceremony? We'll see...