“I’M bored,” says the other half (OH). He has taken two weeks off in February to coincide with his birthday and half-term. Due to a mismatch in our annual leave, I have not.

He had imagined plenty of gardening and riding his bike every day. Instead, he has endured a fortnight that has been wetter than an otter’s pocket. Pity poor Cardinham, which at the time of writing had had 50 uninterrupted days of rain. That’s St Swithin’s and more besides.

It’s a bit extreme, I’ll grant you, but when you take a lengthy staycation at this time of year, you have to admit you’re onto a bit of a sticky wicket.

With daughter on a school trip to London, we decided to break the monotony with a romantic weekend away. Whoops, sorry, I forgot – I’m not allowed to call it that, even though it took place over Valentine’s Day. It was a cultural weekend getaway (with the occasional tender moment).

We weren’t the only parents to make the most of the opportunity. Some friends headed for Paris, booking the top of the Eiffel Tower before their Eurostar tickets, and surrounded by smoochy selfie frames once there.

Asking me where I want to go, and where I’d like to stay, is pretty hopeless. I get bogged down by comparison websites and reviews, befuddled by whether breakfast and parking is included (or not). OH, on the other hand, fancied Oxford, went straight to the tourist board website, picked something he liked the look of and paid for it. Bob’s your uncle.

We set off on Friday afternoon. “It’s miles,” OH chuntered. “Everywhere is miles from Cornwall.” (True, dat – but it’s worth it). We arrived in the city of the dreaming spires at around 8pm, to discover breakfast wasn’t included and parking was first come, first served and £10 a night.

However, the hotel was very stylish, the staff friendly and the weather passable. We spent a gloriously sunny Saturday roaming cobbled streets, university quadrangles, covered markets and historic libraries; a soggy Sunday ensconced in the Ashmolean Museum; and Monday trying to complete a Thameside walk which involved numerous flood diversions and a few arguments.

We breakfasted out, on pastries and coffee. “I’ll have one of those,” said OH. “You mean the cheese and Marmite whirl?” asked the server. Maybe not …

We finally cracked for the full English on Monday morning. A few days later, the results of a new survey by Travelodge, on how Brits really behave at the hotel breakfast buffet, rang more than a few bells. I guarantee that you will recognise yourself too.

Eight in 10 respondents admit to sitting down when being shown to their table, only to stand straight back up again. You do, don’t you? It’s polite to follow the waiter to your table, maybe order your coffee, but then it’s down to business. You need to get to that bacon before your next-door-neighbours do.

Next up: Brits say “sorry” an average of twice at the breakfast buffet, most often when squeezing past other guests or reaching across for food. An extra apologetic 13 per cent say it five times or more during the course of their breakfast. That’s so British, right?

Half admit to going back for a sneaky second portion, while 27 per cent go back for thirds. And why not? It’s a buffet. That’s the whole point.

Of those dining as a couple, 37 per cent say one person remains to ‘man’ the table while the other goes to the buffet. This is akin to the old stereotype of Germans throwing their towels over deckchairs.

Hash browns were unveiled as the hero of the breakfast buffet with 41 per cent of the vote, followed by pancakes (39 per cent) and fruit salad (37 per cent). These outrank bacon (29 per cent) and scrambled eggs (29 per cent) by some margin. Apparently breakfast preferences are shifting, with many people now favouring a more balanced mix of options over classic hot items, accompanied by barista coffee and dairy alternatives.

As a traditionalist, I find that frankly scandalous – but at least there’s more for me, with a hefty spoonful of mushrooms (not even top 10) on the side. And don’t expect me to be among the 35 per cent who fear being judged by strangers over their portion sizes.

A Travelodge spokesperson described the British breakfast buffet as a “social minefield”, adding: “We offer total choice with zero judgment.”

In a few week’s time, we’ll be putting this to the test when hear husky songstress Bonnie Tyler in concert on home turf in Cardiff. “Oh my God, is she still alive?” exclaimed a Welsh friend. “Do you think she’ll come on stage with a walking frame?”

The more pressing question is: will there be any hash browns left at the buffet?