Southwold is Muswell Hill on sea, quirky and knowing. Cutesy sea huts in pastel shades jostle for attention. Waves lap at the pebbly shore, chasing Kitty’s sparkly wellie boots.

Daddy disappears to the end of the pier to peer at sea birds. Kitty and I prowl the gift shops, debating how to spend her pocket money on silly purchases, that mean the world today and are forgotten tomorrow. At least it keeps her out of the noisy arcades… aka headache-on-sea.

In an ironic arcade on the pier mechanical games steal your coins. But bash a banker is well worth 40p, cheaper than therapy anyway. A Frankenstein like monster is cranked into life and a fake doctor writes an illegible prescription, a clunky joke. This arcade could be a contender for the Turner Prize.

We reach Daddy, tummies now rumbling and head to the Georgian town centre and Adnan’s brewery where artisan tagines, posh pickles and elegant decanters crowd the shelves. A hearty salad satisfies our hunger.