Ian Rankin
The crime writer spent his early teenage years eating knickerbocker glories on Blackpool promenade.
If you were working class, and from Fife, you took the same two weeks off every year, in the middle of July. From when I was very little, we stayed in a caravan in St Andrews, but when I was 10 and my mum got a job, we had enough money to go to Blackpool instead. Everyone from my area did. You'd bump into your neighbours on the promenade. We stayed in a seedy boarding house, up four flights of stairs in the eaves, and slept on narrow beds and ate greasy breakfasts every morning.
What are your strongest memories? Going to the end of the pier to see the kind of variety shows that don't exist any more, with Des O'Connor, Jimmy Tarbuck and Russ Abbot. As far as my parents were concerned, that was real entertainment. I loved the Pleasure Beach, though I have always been too scared to go on the rollercoasters. I stuck to the slot machines, mainly, and also the ghost train and the dodgems. I remember a very disappointing experience in the hall of mirrors, where you had to insert some money, and the machine swallowed my change without doing anything. The knickerbocker glories were always a bit of a let-down, too. They'd look amazing on the picture, but you'd just get a bit of ice cream in a cardboard case.
Have you been back since? Not to Blackpool, no, but I will one day.
Where do you holiday now? It's quite difficult. Our 10-year-old son is in a wheelchair, so long-haul flights are out of the question. Last year we did a driving holiday around Scotland, and this year my wife has found us a house on the Black Isle, in the north of Scotland.
Julie Burchill
The journalist and author remembers fond summers at Butlins in Bognor Regis.
At first we just went to Weston- Super-Mare, which we used to call Weston-Super-Mud, and I used to spend a lot of time wondering why the sea never came in. Then my dad decided he wanted to try something more adventurous. There were three Butlins near us in Bristol, but dad insisted we go to the one in Sussex, four hours and three train rides away.
What are your strongest memories? It's a bit kinky, looking back, but the thing I found particularly impressive was that the swimming pool had a glass wall, and there was a coffee lounge looking into it. It was a pervert's paradise, but I felt fantastically sophisticated drinking coffee and watching people's legs under the surface. I thought it was a wonderful place. I felt free there; it seemed so flash. I loved the fact you could go on the rides as many times as you liked and didn't have to pay.
Have you been back since? I went back about nine years ago with my son, Jack, and everything had changed. I honestly remembered it as this most beautiful, paradisic resort - when you're young you have no idea what kitsch is - but going back, it was all very grizzly. Me and my friend ended up taking speed in the toilet while the kids played about.
Where do you holiday now? I hadn't been abroad at all until I was 35, so the past decade has been spent globetrotting, but I think I've come full circle now. I'm back onto the UK again. We were coming back from Antigua recently, and I turned to my husband and said, "that was very nice, but it's not quite like Torquay, is it?"
Lauren Laverne
For the young TV presenter, DJ and former popstar, summer holidays meant holing up in a caravan in the Lake District.
From when I was about six, until I was 13, all of my mum's extended family used to head over to Pooley Bridge in Penrith, to stay in the static caravan. On one memorable occasion we managed to squeeze 27 of us in there, and I ended up catching chicken pox off my cousin Victoria.
What are your strongest memories? It was just gorgeous, very lush and green, with soft, boundless skies - classic Wordsworth country. The best thing was being in a big gang with my cousins and having adventures. It was like Enid Blyton but a lot less racist. I've good memories, too, of the clubhouse disco. We'd agonise for months about what to wear. I was such a fashionista, I used to draw my outfits out on paper in advance.
Have you been back since? I've not been back to the caravan park, no. I'm not a member - they'd never let me in! It's a very exclusive club, you know. But when I was in Kenicke we'd often find ourselves nearby, travelling through on the way to a gig in Cumbria.
Where do you holiday now? All those years in the caravan have given me a grounding, holiday-wise. Recently my fiance and I went up to the Highlands, where he proposed, and we had the best holiday ever. I'm still into self-catering, too, and like escaping somewhere peaceful. I do go to Ibiza a lot, but always to the north side of the island, where it's quieter. It might sound a bit odd, but it's not that different from the Lake District there. I still like to nestle up, relax and listen to Crosby Stills and Nash. Just like we did in Pooley Bridge.
Jon Snow
The newsreader spent several summers camping in Kingston, near the seaside town of Swanage on the south coast of Dorset.
Until I was four, my two brothers, my parents, our nanny and I spent our holidays in a boarding house in Swanage, with a balcony over- looking the sea. Then we graduated, or should I say retreated, to a caravan in Kingston, a village up in the hills.
What are your strongest memories? What I remember most is the vast and elaborate haystack of tarpaulin that constituted our sleeping quarters. My parents stayed in the caravan, and we three boys had a tent each. There was another for nanny, which we called the Elephant House - I have no idea why, looking back. We had all the mod cons. My father had constructed a hot-water system to pro- vide water for the much hated baths, using a zinc boiler which was fuelled by a year's supply of Times newspapers.
Have you been back since? I've returned many times, and it's just as I remember it. Nothing's changed. I've not taken my children back, though - they shouldn't have to endure my need for nostalgia.
Where do you holiday now? We go to Cape Cod every year now, where there are the same sandy beaches. I suppose it's just an inevitable consequence of upward monetary mobility.
Jenny Colgan
The author and her family trekked down from Scotland to St Ives in Cornwall every year.
As we lived in west Scotland, getting to St Ives was about the longest car journey a person can make in this country. Getting there took forever. That's where I really developed a serious reading habit, sitting still for 16 hours with one of my brothers asleep in my lap, as I plotted furiously that when I grew up I would never make one of my children sit in the middle.
What are your strongest memories? Apart from the drive, what I really remember is eating all the food we weren't allowed to in the year - cream teas, fudge in flavours that are too sweet to eat now, and hot fried potatoes. And on St Ives beach you could get tea on a tray with a little silver teapot and proper cups. My mother always used to have it and considered it the height of sophistication. I hope they still do it. She'd sit and drink tea and plough through huge Stephen King paperbacks that we weren't allowed, on pain of heinous nightmares, to go anywhere near. We'd stay in the freezing water all day because getting out just wasn't worth the agony of getting back in again, and body surf. I loved the terrible artworks you used to get in St Ives - I'm sure since the Tate came it's gone really upmarket. My parents still have these awful portraits of us they had taken there, hanging in the hall.
Have you been back since? Not yet, but we will. We'll take the baby and show him the surf.
Where do you holiday now? Because my husband works abroad so much, we're never in Britain for very long. We're extremely lucky and spend a lot of time in France, where the sea is warm (but you can't get a cup of tea).
'I've not taken my children back - they shouldn't have to endure my need for nostalgia' Jon Snow 'It was like Enid Blyton but a lot less racist' Lauren Laverne 'When you're young you have no idea what kitsch is' Julie Burchill 'We'd stay in the freezing water all day because getting out just wasn't worth the agony of getting back in again' Jenny Colgan
