I felt like a cod in a shoal of exotic fish, a bulldog surrounded by poodles, a pigeon blundering into a flock of parakeets.

They’re a glamorous lot the French and there was no getting away from it, especially while sat on one of their beaches. And it brought home what a breed apart we are, because it’s not just The Channel that separates us, but an entire culture and way of life. There were the glaringly obvious, inescapable differences – there were no fat people for a start.

Stretching as far as the eye could see was endlessly slim women parading about in bikini bottoms without a stretchmark or bingo wing in sight. Not one!

The toplessness was a distraction, but what I wanted to know was how and why they stayed so uniformly thin? The beach in question was full of surfers, families, couples and holiday makers, and had this been England its approach would be rammed with burger bars, ice cream shops, fish and chip stalls, candy floss kiosks and every other possible incarnation of processed junk food we could possibly get our hands on. We sit on our towels and happily eat and drink our way through the day. Bliss! On the French beach there was one food shack selling pizzas and ice cream. The French just don’t eat between meals at all. And they look fantastic. The women swan about looking effortless, beautiful and thin in an endlessly depressing succession, shaming you into hiding your Solero. And while their philosophy seems so simple, it’s such a foreign concept to us Brits, because what’s a beach holiday without a Mr Whippy or a cold beer? And where’s the fun? Neither do the French like doing much on the beach. While we love doing things – whether it’s putting up wind breakers, building sandcastles, digging dams, floating about on lilos, rowing our rubber dinghies about in circles, playing cricket, crabbing, flirting, or laughing – the French just sunbathe or stand in the sea. They have no need for beach entertainment and I missed it. It was the same in the hotel restaurant. Table after table of well behaved, well-dressed families eating impeccably. But laughter, animated conversation, emotion, romance – forget it. But the most glaring contrast lay in their interaction. They keep themselves to themselves. Not because they didn’t want to mix with us Brits, but because they don’t want to mix with anyone. So while we will chat to anyone anywhere, here you are left to your own devices. Luckily this suited us fine - we’re a big, rowdy bunch who enjoy our own company, but in that we were also unique. And as we returned home on the ferry and the nice lady from Derby in the canteen queue turned and began asking me about my holiday, I felt so relieved I could have cried. A friendly face, pleasantries and a smile will no longer be something I take for granted. They are a national characteristic we should be proud of and something I’d swap for a size 6 bikini any day.