That rush of speed, the dizzying highs, the plastic trays... We are, it seems, increasingly hooked on flying. New figures show more and more of us taking to the skies, with a million Britons flying at least five times a year just for holidays.

Tomorrow sees the inaugural flight of the longest non-stop scheduled service, direct from New York to Singapore: you check in on Monday and get there on Wednesday. And the first-ever private flight into space, billed as the next dream trip blasted off last week.

All very exciting, speaking as one who loves an airline meal and and inflight movie (does anyone else find Robin Williams curiously moving when your brain is starved of oxygen?) But it all takes a toll, on passengers and planet alike. Is frequent flying really so desirable?

I've just been on a plane-free short break, to North Wales, discovering some surprisingly excellent places on our doorstep: a B&B doing fine organic breakfasts, lakes and mountains that wouldn't look out of place in Switzerland, hotels serving fabulous food at very reasonable prices and wonderfully weird Portmeirion. But what clinched it as a particularly relaxing holiday was the simple fact of going nowhere near an airport.

Tumbling fares have made the skies temptingly accessible. Environmental concerns - fuel consumption, noise pollution, air traffic bursting at the seams - don't deter many of us when we're thinking of that week in the sun.

Instead, coming to realise that the stresses of even a short hop aren't great for our own wellbeing might be what it takes to help to kick our flying habit.

A colleague who went to Italy by train found that the journey itself was the highlight of her trip, but rolling to Venice and back through the countryside now costs considerably more than a plane ticket. In an era when flights are cheaper as well as quicker than other means of travel, is the real luxury for a holidaymaker to have the time and money to stay on the ground?

Life's a peach on a UK beach

The other great thing about Wales was discovering the subtle joys of the British seaside. Until I was finally exposed to a foreign beach fairly late in life, I had never realised it could be warm and sunny. From then on, I felt no urge to sit on our own damp sands again.

But this trip brought back long forgotten memories: not least, the number of windbreaks, a curious domestic essential that would have them gaping in the Med, where it's all mats and sunshades.

Tropical white sands? Keep them. I've rediscovered the joys of rock pools, shells and a bracing chill in the water. After all, where else but Britain can you happily doze on the beach fully clothed?

Cruise secrets the oldies have been keeping quiet

Neither cruising nor Cyprus has always had the best press, so congratulations to whichever Mediterranean Max Clifford broke the story of a mass orgy on a cruise ship sailing out of Ayia Napa.

Cruising has never really shed its crusty image, and the Cypriot resort took a battering with the spurious pre-Iraq war claim that it was just 45 minutes away from being wiped out by weapons of mass destruction. Could tales of a hundred naked, carefree pleasure-seekers be just the fillip for both?

Don't take my word for it: after the story appeared on our website, a reader from Tasmania emailed: 'When is the next sailing? I'm 70 and would just love to be there! I spent many years on Cunard liners, and every trip was an orgy.'

Little wonder our grandparents have been keeping cruising to themselves.

· Gwyn Topham is travel editor of Guardian Unlimited