There comes a moment towards the end of every holiday when, no matter how much fun you’re still having, it becomes clear that it’s time for you to go home.

Mine came on our final evening at Millbrook – a beautiful and slightly swanky golf resort where we spent the last three nights of our recent trip to Aotearoa New Zealand. Walking back from dinner in the evening sun, toenails twinkling red, linen trousers rippling in the gentlest of breezes, stomach full of delicious food… I was feeling relaxed. Perhaps a little too relaxed.

Thinking we were alone, I stopped on the path back to our suite, turned to my family, and bust out a spectacular, head-banging, full-body rendition of the drum solo from Phil Collins ‘In the Air Tonight’.

But it turns out we weren’t alone at all, and the group of elderly women coming towards us on the path were not in fact, a very enthusiastic audience. I think it may have taken them a moment to recover.

“Oh my God,” I heard my husband and son muttering behind me. “Definitely time to go home.”

Someone needs to find a way to capture that holiday feeling – the vibe that makes you want to spontaneously break into air-drums – and make it last a little longer.

It’s only a fortnight today since we got back from our travels – but already it feels like we were never away. DorkySon is back at college. DorkyDad and I have returned to work. Even DorkyDog has accepted that with her beloved dogsitter gone, she’s back to sleeping in her own bed instead of sharing the hooman beds.

It’s nice getting back into the regular routine… but gosh, it would have been nice to have another week or two of balcony views and someone else doing the cooking too.

As this was a summer trip, there were direct seasonal flights between Hobart and Auckland, which made getting to Aotearoa New Zealand incredibly easy – just a three-hour flight across the Tasman. We made things even easier by spending a night at an Auckland airport hotel, before heading down the next morning to windy Wellington (Te Whanganui-a-Tara or Pōneke in te reo Māori).

Last time we visited Wellington, we stayed at the Te Papa end of town. This time we were up the other end of the city centre near the Beehive. The Bolton Hotel is an independent, family-run hotel with lush green views over the Thorndon Hills. It meant a slightly longer walk to the waterfront and Cuba Street restaurants – but was perfectly placed for the cafes and shops along The Terrace and Lambton Quay.

They also had someone from Scotland on reception when we arrived so, you know, bonus points for that.

In fact, on that first evening we briefly wondered if we had somehow landed in the northern hemisphere rather than the south. After checking into The Bolton with the friendly fella from Falkirk, we headed off for a much-anticipated dinner at Ortega Fish Shack and ended up with a waitress from Edinburgh, seated at a corner table recently vacated by a couple from Ullapool. Great places attract great people, I guess.

On our first full day in Wellington, DorkySon was booked in for a flight with the Aero Club, but unfortunately the weather had other ideas. Instead, we wandered through the wonderful collections at Te Papa and took a slightly damp stroll around the harbour (high fives to the yacht owner sailing a Palestinian flag who moored right behind the giant Wellington sign, thereby ensuring it appears in every tourist photo this summer…).

DorkySon and I couldn’t resist a quick zip up and down on the famous Cable Car, and we finished our day with one of the best meals of the whole trip at Hei, an Asian Fusion spot on Cuba St. When our pork dumplings, Peking duck pancakes and Signature Bao came out I didn’t think we were going to manage it all. But of course we did, and it was delicious.

(A second high five here to all the restaurants we called ahead– including Hei – who were happy to accommodate a peanut and shellfish allergy. It can be super tricky with Asian cuisines, and we were very pleasantly surprised!)

Our second (and final!) full day in Wellington also had a heavy food focus, starting with pastries and coffee from Aurora, an Argentinian café on The Terrace, before moving swiftly on to Viva Mexico in Newtown where we caught up with some dear friends for a top-notch lunch of quesadillas and margaritas.

In desperate need of a good walk to shuffle down some of that lunch, we spent the afternoon at Zealandia, a truly beautiful wildlife sanctuary covering more than 220 hectares and home to rare birds, insects and reptiles. This delivered DorkySon’s first highlight of the holiday: he spotted not just one but several of his favourite reptile – the tuatara. Like a lizard, but not actually a lizard. Another of those cool, quirky creatures that both Tasmania and New Zealand seem to specialise in.

All-too-soon, it was time to pack up  and ready ourselves for the following day’s flight. This time to a city that was new for all three of us: Ōtautahi Christchurch.

If Wellington felt like we’d landed in Scotland, Christchurch felt more like the south of England. Carefully manicured grassy parks, roads lined by deciduous trees, Gothic Revival architecture, and streets named after English cities – you can even go punting on the Avon, ffs. It was a disconcerting experience, especially when our first walk around the city revealed the contrast between that heritage aesthetic and the ongoing rebuild following the major earthquake in 2011.

For us, Christchurch didn’t have Wellington’s immediate wow factor – not even when we realised that our visit coincided with the World Buskers Festival, and that every walk came with the soundtrack of a nearby performance – but over the next two days of exploring, it steadily grow on us.

We ditched our original plan of visiting the Antarctic Experience when we saw the ticket prices, and instead opted for the Christchurch Art Gallery Te Puna o Waiwhetū, which was just a few minutes from our hotel.

This magnificent modern building is the city’s public art gallery and has a genuinely impressive collection. We all especially loved Tangaroa Birch’s Ara-i-te-Uru, part of the Whāia te Taniwha exhibition in which Māori artists consider the enduring relevance of taniwha (water-dwelling spirits) in Aotearoa. But it was hard to choose a favourite piece with such diversity on display. (Hi to the Andy Warhol piece randomly tucked in one corner.)

It was clear from the number of galleries, theatres, and public artworks, as well as the aforementioned festival, that Christchurch has invested heavily in the arts sector as part of its recovery, and that’s really exciting. It gives the city a vibrancy that helps counteract all the construction work and empty plots of land that are still a work in progress.

As in Wellington, we managed to fit in an indecent amount of eating in Christchurch – including two more Mexican meals to compensate for Hobart’s ongoing deficiency in that department. We also clocked up a heroic step count each day, perhaps to help balance out all the good food.

But the real highlight from this part of the trip – especially for DorkySon, but really for us all – was that he managed to organise a flight with the Canterbury Aero Club out at West Melton. After a series of frustrating health issues last year, followed by the closure of his flight school in Tasmania, it had been a good six months since he’d sat in a cockpit.

Even better, when he explained his background to the instructor, what was supposed to be a 20-minute trial flight turned into an hour-long flight that he could include in his pilot logbook. I will try and keep my Mama pride under control, but the fact that he was able to get in a new plane (a low-wing Piper instead of a high-wing Cessna), after such a long break, at an aerodrome he’d never been to before… and fly for an hour with glowing feedback from his instructor. Well. Colour me very impressed indeed!

Regardless of whether he ever returns to flying full time in future, I hope that a lesson with the local flight school or Aero Club becomes a family holiday tradition from now on. It delights me to know that he saw views and perspectives of Ōtautahi Christchurch – including flying over the runway at the main airport just as Ed Sheeran’s cargo plane full of concert equipment was taking off – that he couldn’t have seen any other way.

Now. I don’t want to suggest that the successful flight went to DorkySon’s head. But I will say that the following morning, when we were at Christchurch Airport, all checked in and headed for security, ONE OF THE DORKYS WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS suddenly realised they’d left their backpack – containing their wallet, camera, iPad and epipen – back in the hotel lobby.

Cue frantic calls, a taxi retrieval mission, and a driver arriving at the airport with lights flashing, horn tooting, and a look of pure delight at being able to save the day. No harm done. Just an unexpected adrenaline spike on a Thursday morning, a generous tip, and a three Dorkys making it onto their flight in time. Phew.

The approach into Queenstown (Tāhuna in te reo Māori) is quite astonishing. Towering mountains on either side, many still dusted with snow. Incredibly beautiful – but surely challenging for the folk up front. It did make us reflect that, in a very quiet and understated way, Air New Zealand probably employs some of the most skilled pilots in the world.

Once we were safely down, we resisted the temptation to linger on the apron snapping photos of The Remarkables, and instead hurried inside to collect our luggage and head off to our base for the final three nights: Millbrook Resort.

Millbrook isn’t in Queenstown itself – it sits between Queenstown and Arrowtown, a charming old mining settlement now full of galleries and restaurants. The resort hosts the New Zealand Open each year – and the two golf courses were a large part of why we had chosen it – but we also had a feeling that after two big cities we would be keen to finish our trip somewhere quieter.

I’m not sure we could have chosen better. It’s now right up there as one of the top two or three places we’ve stayed as a family, and the bar has been set dangerously high for future holidays.

I don’t even know what I can say really – I think I’d be better off just directing you to my photos, but even they don’t convey the full sense of just how relaxing this place is. Other than the lap pool, hot pools, sauna, golf courses, walking trails, multiple on-site restaurants, and complimentary shuttle buses to Queenstown and Arrowtown… other than all that there was absolutely nothing to do there except sit on the balcony in a big fluffy robe and admire the view.

We did force ourselves out a few times. Twice to Arrowtown for dinner and a pretty little stroll by the river (and a drink in a wine bar where I made friends by failing to notice an empty metal dog bowl and kicking it at considerable speed and volume across the floor into a table full of German tourists.)

“It’s okay!” one of them said. “We are awake now!”

And once into Queenstown itself which… meh. DorkySon and I agreed we could take it or leave it. If adrenaline-fuelled activities like bungee jumps, jet boats and mountainside luges aren’t your thing, then it’s probably not for you.

While DorkyDad stayed back at Millbrook to tackle the Remarkables course, DorkySon and I walked around the Queenstown Botanic Gardens, found sushi and tacos for lunch, and played a game of mini-golf – wishing all the while there was an earlier shuttle bus back to the resort.

It did, however, bring DorkySon’s third and final highlight of the trip: a visit to the Cookie Time Bar and a photo opportunity in the Cookie Time car. He might be turning 17 next month, but you’re never too old for a good, warm, cookie.

After all that, it was time to pack up for the final time. We didn’t go too hard on the souvenirs this time round. One golf ball marker, one fridge magnet and one tin of cookies – obviously – but we came home with a bundle of lovely new memories, and a firm determination than we need to start saving up for our next family holiday right away.

So. Where to next for the Dorkys? Let me know your suggestions below…