LAST weekend we decided to unplug the children from their devices and spend the weekend in the New Forest, without wifi.

“We’re going on a lovely adventure. We’re going to yomp over the moors, practise orienteering and stroke wild ponies” I told them as I packed a family jigsaw and word search books. “Nature not Netflix.”

Three hours, five rows, seven toilet stops and a couple of U-turns later (“I meant that left”, “the left that is actually right?”, “Shut up”) , we arrived at Beaulieu Hotel. Nestled in the heart of the New Forest, lamplights gleaming softly in the pink and navy sky, it looked idyllic.

The Labrador almost got us kicked out within seconds of checking in, when he cocked his leg against the reception desk.

Luckily, the lady serving us was distracted by the miniature dachshund and I pulled him away just in time. The theme of my weekend was set. Me, stood in the rain with the dogs, unable to relax in case they “whoopsied” in the hotel, swigging Beechams for the cold I didn’t know I’d packed.

At 11am on Saturday morning, having eaten everything from the buffet and been in the small and chilly pool, we ran out of things to do.

I was keen to have a nap, which was impossible in a room with three children arguing over a bouncy ball, the husband watching sport on the TV and two dogs looking like they might squat or start doing the “three spins prior to poo” dance any second.

Of course we ended up arguing. By 11.22am I’d packed everything up, slung it in the boot and the five of us sat snivelling in a moist car that smelled of dog farts and the garlic and tomato sauce the eldest made at school and we’d forgotten about.

In a last-ditch bid to rescue the weekend, the husband took us to Beaulieu motor museum to see the car used in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

Amazing what a vintage car and an overpriced cheese sandwich can do (OK, and a hissed threat to “act like these boring old cars are the best things you’ve ever seen or else. The best faker gets fudge from the gift shop.”

For two hours we were that family. The one you look at and think “look at that family, getting it right”… and then an announcement came over the tannoy saying “can the owners of two dogs, one a white Labrador and the other a miniature dachshund, please collect them from reception” (where they’d escaped and were barking furiously at people queuing up to pay.

Having been kicked out, we went for a long walk before dinner, which lasted three minutes.

That’s how long it took for the Labrador to knock the eldest over in a cowpat, the youngest to jump in a bog and lose both her (new and expensive) trainers and the middle one to bounce her ball into a gorse bush.

Thank goodness for Audible and hot chocolate. On the way home, a friend who lived locally took us to the local wildlife museum.

The sign on the entrance promised badgers, foxes, otters, deer, bison, wolves and wallabies.

“Isn’t this exciting children?” I cooed at them. “All the animals we are going to see… aren’t we lucky?’

An hour later, after peering into cage after empty cage that I’m convinced no animals have lived in for many, many a year, I conceded maybe we weren’t so lucky after all.

I’m sure the whole thing was a big set-up and we were secretly being filmed and laughed at as we studied clumps of grass and tree stumps, exclaiming “there, look, I’ve found the otter. Oh no. No, it’s not. It’s a twig.”

The only animal we saw was a large brown rat, which chased the middle one and scared her so badly she refused to walk.

She screamed at every moving leaf from the safety of her dad’s shoulders and screamed “mouse” as loudly as she could. I offered to loan the farm my vermin catching dachshund for an hour. At least (paying) visitors would see an animal. Oddly, they said no.

There’s simply no helping some people.

We drove home muddier and more relaxed than when we left.

There was lots of “remember when she fell in the bog and lost her shoes” and “wasn’t it funny when you said ****** ****** bang bang instead of chitty chitty bang bang?”, then synchronized snores.

Upon reflection, we’d had a good time. Inbetween all the rows and lost dogs and wet shoes and fashioning (forgotten) swimming costumes out of my large pants, we laughed, and held hands.

We jumped in puddles and wedged far too many arms and legs into a small bath tub.

We made memories.