Luckily the gales and the rain that had been a feature of the first week of the Easter break had gone, and we were left with dry weather. Of course, the best day in terms of sunshine and warmth was the day we were leaving to drive home, but that always seems to be the way.
We visited the usual haunts - Cromer, Sheringham, Holt, Wells, Blakeney, Bewilderwood and went on the steam train which runs on the Poppy Line from Weybourne.
This always makes me feel nostalgic - not that I'm old enough to remember steam trains from the first time around - but transports me to a gentler time, allowing me to picture myself as Celia Johnson from Brief Encounter or perhaps an extra in Poirot.
What I did notice this time generally was the number of dogs on holiday. Obviously with owners, they hadn't packed up their boxes of gravy bones and headed off of their own accord.
But there were dogs pretty much everywhere - which is fine, I love dogs; in fact, I would rather have well-behaved dogs in pubs and restaurants than badly-behaved squawking people of either the large or small varieties.
On the downside though it does also mean that there's a lot of what dogs tend to 'create' (please note that I put it delicately in case you're eating while reading).
On arrival at Brancaster Beach on our first day we were greeted with the unedifying sight of seriously overflowing dog poo bins.
Admittedly this was better than it not having been collected at all, but still, it's not a great 'Welcome to Norfolk'.
It also makes me think that when in many thousands of years our children's children's grandchildren (or whatever it will be) discover all these bags - because there's no way they're decomposing any time soon - will they wonder why we valued our dogs' creations so highly we treasured them by encasing them in plastic for all eternity?