Greetings from Wiltshire. Here we are on a family holiday in one of those CenterParcs resorts.

It has rained every day so far which hasn't been all that pleasant as our only permitted form of transport has been by bicycle.

But my husband, myself and our three-year-old are being as adventurous as we can be under the circumstances.

Holidays should be about new experiences.

Indeed, I was gobsmacked on Wednesday when my husband announced he would be joining me in a beginners' yoga class.

"Really?" I said, thinking back to a recent incident when he'd threatened to buy a mug bearing the words "Yoga Kills" for one of our more flexible friends.

"But I thought you hated all that mind-body unity stuff," I continued. "You're always mocking it."

"Well, now I'm curious about it," he said. In fact he was so curious that he was willing to get up at 6.30am and cycle through the dark and misty morning to the exercise studio to join me, when he could have been having a lie-in watching kids' TV.

Despite his curiosity, it was evident within minutes of the class beginning that he was in an alien environment.

As the rest of us were lulled by the gentle whale music and the slow, calm voice of the instructor, I could hear my husband sighing, contemptuously.

When the instructor began talking us through a few rudimentary positions and encouraging us to breathe slowly, my husband began sniffing.

"Have you got a hankie?" he whispered. "I think I'm about to sneeze."

I shook my head and put my fingers to my lips to remind him to stay quiet. He avoided sneezing but the sniffing carried on. It was not good karma.

As the class continued, I detected he was feeling more and more frustrated. He kept looking at his watch and was easily distracted by anyone walking past the window.

"Well at least my curiosity is satisfied," he said afterwards. "I was trying so hard to relax but all I really wanted to do was ride my bike up a hill as fast as I could."

I, on the other hand, felt so spaced-out by the experience that I couldn't even remember where I'd left my bike.

A few hours later we were in the leisure pool and my husband came shooting down the steepest flume with Eve.

"Fantastic," he said. "That's what I call a mind-body experience. Why don't you try it?"

"I'm frightened," I said.

"But eight-year-olds do it. Where's your sense of adventure?"

So I tried the easiest flume. I queued up with small children and grown-ups with even smaller children.

There were a few elderly people in front of me too, all looking fairly relaxed about the excitement in store.

When the green light indicated I could go next, my stomach flipped like a fish. I stood still for several seconds until a small boy behind me nudged me forward. "Your turn," he said.

"I know," I snapped. I then sat at the gaping mouth of the dark hole and said a quick prayer before launching down it. My mind left my body before the first bend. By the time I splashed into the pool at the bottom, I had lost all sensation in my limbs.

"How was it for you?" asked my husband, dragging me out of the way of other flumists.

"Just get me to a Jacuzzi," I gasped.