Blackpool and Chester- two British diamonds.

Blackpool and Chester- two British diamonds.

For those of us who have seen it all before this was the opportunity to see it all over again. In their vastly differing ways both Blackpool and Chester are synonymous with everything Britain holds dear. There's the Blackpool of seaside frivolity, flashing and winking amusement arcades, silly 'Kiss Me Quick' hats, cosy and compact bed and breakfast hotels, 'The Golden Mile' which seems to meander endlessly from one end of Blackpool to the other and above all those endearing trams, now etched into Blackpool's transport history like the proverbial stick of rock.

On a family visit to both Blackpool and Chester we re-visited the sights and sounds of those famous English beauty spots rather like old friends meeting up with genuinely fond acquaintances we couldn't wait to see again. After parking the car, we set about pounding the grand old esplanades and pavements of Blackpool with all of the enthusiasm of daytrippers determined to re-discover much more of both the old and new Blackpool.

There were the innumerable cafes and restaurants strung along the front like chunky pearls in jewellery shop windows, the pretty souvenirs, postcard stalls clustered together with patriotic zeal, timeless toy windmills accompanied with the inevitable bucket and spades and all of the holiday paraphernalia we've come to expect from Blackpool. Then the majestic red and brown Blackpool Tower stood high and impressively into the air. The Blackpool illuminations would shortly be on display for all to see. It was England at her best and most striking.

But in an increasingly unstable political climate, tourists, local families and children from all over the world may have to re-think their priorities and budgets. This is the time for cutting back perhaps, saving frugally and re-calibrating our outgoings before investing in things we may have cause to regret. Even so, the atmosphere along the rich Lancashire coast could not have been better as the good people from Hong Kong to Hackney, Malaysia to Merseyside availed themselves of the traditional pink candy floss, gallons of ice cream, while not forgetting the fish and chip lunches that may last for an eternity.

Suddenly, Blackpool once again came to life as we always knew it would. It was the sound perhaps of the 1950s and, certainly, the 1960s. It was the sound of a motor bike convention, roaring, growling, sputtering, spluttering and steaming with both smoke and furious intent. We could only have assumed that most of these avid bike fans were proud possessors of Vespas, well upholstered, gleaming chrome machines that may well have seen many a road or motorway in their time. Here again they flaunted their long hair, thick leather jackets and cultural charisma, men and women with rugged personalities.

For a while it looked as if those turbo charged petrol heads would come to dominate our day by the Lancashire Riviera. Then, quite dramatically, a severe and mildly shocking wind blew up with a stern vengeance. But this was no ordinary wind. It was alarmingly blustery and sufficiently blowy to rock us back on our heels. By the time we'd repaired to a local hotel for a serene tea, sandwiches and cakes the wind had whipped up so strongly that ever so briefly it threatened to ruin our day.

Eventually though we were able to summon another burst of energy for the stroll back to the car. What we saw next was a classic scene stolen unashamedly from those celebrated Disney theme parks. A long and winding procession of old style, horse drawn wedding carriages slowly clip clopped into view. Mauve canopy firmly fixed onto the main carriage you half expected a violinist to strike up 'Here Comes the Bride'. Still, clanking with metal, bridle and ornate feathers proudly pointing out of their ears, the horses went about their leisurely way totally oblivious to Brexit, the fortunes of Blackpool football team and the ever present dangers of losing the Ashes to Australia.

Then we travelled quickly onto the lovely city of Chester for no particular reason other than simple curiosity. Chester is beautifully and timelessly historic, a city tuned into the future but always harking back to a wonderfully medieval past when knights were brave and a good, old fashioned pint of mead might have set you back a princely sum. The present day Chester will never lose its distinctive identity. It both looks and feels like an ancient British city because its shops and buildings have always had that quintessential British character.

From the elegant, black and white timber framed facades to the countless card shops, Chester is alive and well with its very tuneful street buskers and all the familiar local merchandise on your doorstep. There were the ever present jewellers, prominent pawnbrokers, Chester cathedral in all her pomp, Poundland stores with bargains in profusion, Greggs the bakers and sundry patisseries with mouth watering cakes.

After a pleasant river boat trip taking in all of Chester's many and varied tourist delights we all made our way back to the car. Blackpool and Chester had captured our imagination. We had seen what we had come to see and we were not to be disappointed. There are everyday experiences in our lives which we may take for granted but at the end of a late summer retreat by the seaside and a gentle plod through the bustling streets of Chester we knew that England had now shut up its shutters before completing the day with a jolly pub quiz and a pint of best cider. Surely a day to be savoured.