May is the month Britain loses its mind. Two bank holidays, blossom on every hedge, and the dangerous illusion that summer has finally arrived. Spoiler. It has not. Problem: every road south of Birmingham becomes a car park by 9am on Saturday. The Lake District has a queue. Cornwall has a queue for the queue. Even your nan's village has traffic wardens. Worse still, every pub garden within fifty miles of anywhere nice is fully booked, the local Co-op has run out of sausages, and someone in your group has forgotten the suncream. Again. Solution one: leave on Friday morning, not Saturday. Take the day off. Your future self, sipping cider in an empty beer garden by lunchtime, will thank you. Solution two: go small. Skip the marquee names and aim for somewhere your friends cannot pronounce. Try Shropshire instead of the Cotswolds. Try Northumberland instead of the Lakes. Try anywhere ending in 'on Sea' that is not Brighton. Solution three: embrace the indoors. National Trust houses are gloriously empty when it rains, and the tearooms still do scones. Lots of scones. Final tip. Pack a fleece, an umbrella and sunglasses. You will need all three before lunch.