It was a good enough place to park. A large, open-air pay and display a few minutes walk from the port, surely this was the perfect spot to leave our car and explore the fascinating maritime city of Thessaloniki (Salonika).

‘Shalom”, boomed the dark-haired young man behind the reception desk as we checked into Armathwaite Hall.
The kind of greeting routinely proffered at a Tel Aviv sea-front hotel, perhaps? Not at all what you would expect to find on arriving at a 17th century former stately home nestling on the shores of Bassenthwaite Lake.

So here's the conundrum: a chance arises to grab a much needed mini-break but my husband and I have conflicting wish lists. My perfect tick-box break has to include stunning architecture, an abundance of history, perhaps a dash of Jewish culture, the rattle and hum of a vibrant city. He wants a sun lounger with back support, decent weather and a sea view.

Mmm.

On a June night in 1944, all was dark and quiet as the 13-man crew of the small D-Day landing craft slowly approached the south coast on its return journey from Normandy.

But just four miles from the safety of Portsmouth harbour, disaster struck. The small craft collided with HMS Rodney, a 34,000-ton battleship, which sliced the boat in half.

The view from Denis Avey's hill- top Derbyshire cottage is spectacular. Little wonder the sprightly 92-year-old loves relaxing in his favourite armchair and looking out over the fields and hills surrounding his lovely home.

Debby Carr has the kind of beauty that makes grown men walk into oncoming traffic. Not only because they are bewitched by her striking looks, but also because there is something familiar about those feline eyes and that sultry smile.

Want a clue? Anyone who sees her might think: "By 'eck, she's gorgeous".

It’s a gloomy midweek evening in north Manchester. A thin wind whips through the damp air and The Apprentice is on the telly. Who on earth would venture out on such a night?

It’s a question I ask myself as I pull into the car park of a local shul hall, where I’m star-billing as guest speaker at a small event for the local branch of the League of Jewish Women. Good job I had no Mariah Carey-esque dressing-room requests, such as fresh flowers or chilled pomegranate juice — though there is the promise of a plate of kichels after I’ve finished.