EVERYONE is on holiday except us,” I told Carrie. “The landlord is away, the neighbours have gone to Penzance, Sarah is in Spain, Anna is in Lyon and my parents are off to Prague. I’m so jealous I could just die.”

Carrie, my friend, gave a nervous laugh and clung to the door of my car as I navigated the road through Milnthorpe.

“It would be all right if it was just one of them, but the whole lot are putting up Facebook photos of blue seas and ice cream. Sinead looks like she’s in some tropical paradise.”

I took a last minute turn. My car, the Frog, narrowly missed the hedge. They should make it illegal to drive grumpy.

“I think you have grass is greener syndrome,” Carrie said, checking the settings on her camera. “It’s not just greener - it’s vert. It’s roheline, it’s berde!”

We pulled up outside The Albion pub in Arnside and set off walking along the prom.

It is funny how the coast calms you down. Within two minutes I had stopped navel-gazing and was gawping at the horizon.

Arnside is stunning. From the edge of the sands you can see trains crossing the viaduct, curlews fishing in the water and the odd crafty looking seagull strutting about, looking mischievous. The sun was sauntering down the sky and the shop windows had caught the Midas touch, reflecting gold in the last rays of the day.

Maybe the beauty of the estuary is that you can’t really have a narrow view of it. It’s like an enormous, long rippling mirror.

I realised how absurd I must look, stomping my feet in front of the view.

Carrie was taking photos. They looked like picture postcards. “Shall we get a drink and watch the sunset outside?” I asked. “Yeah alright,” she said. I wondered if she had caught the same holiday feeling. “I’m just trying to get that seagull in this shot. Come on you chip-pinching sky rat!

” Maybe I should go into tourism and make the most of my local knowledge. Come to north Lancashire, home of gorgeous sunsets, good pubs and notorious wildlife.