Whilst living in London for the first 34 years of my life I was, without doubt, the worst tourist ever.

Everything was on my doorstep and on many occasions I decided against seeing things.

When you live in a place you take it for granted. I’m sure the same case could be made by many of you in regard to places in the Ribble Valley.

There was an exception to that rule. A mate of mine worked for the Ministry of Defence in Whitehall and on one Saturday he asked if I wanted to come into work with him.

It was the day of Princess Diana’s funeral and the MoD opened its doors to all staff. So, there we were running up and down all the best vantage points in the building making sure we got a good view of the procession.

I asked my mate why he was so interested. He said that he would be in London anyway and wanted to be there as this was one of the biggest events London had seen for over a generation. Quite a good point, I had to concede.

There was one embarrassing moment as we sat in the press office with several other people all quite wrapped up in the sadness of the day. The TV screens showed a close up of the Queen Mother and my mate shouted out “you’re next!” There was a deafening silence and we left the room.

The same friend was our guest when I first moved here. We gave him a stunning tour of the Trough of Bowland, which he was mightily impressed with, and then took him to Waddington Fell. We both climbed the small viewing point and his first comment was: “Dan, you are well up north here, there’s Morecambe Bay over there”.

My initial return to London came in the summer of 2006. On leaving Euston station I was hit by the oppressive heat of the place. How hot and sticky was this place? I was now used to the open spaces and fresh air of East Lancashire.

Aside from the excitement of seeing family and friends I was eager to get back north as the crowds and density of the tall buildings were making me uncomfortable. I was quite shocked at how quickly I had become used to life in the North West. All of my old haunts in the West End, Oxford Street, and the City were now just places full of noise, people and irritation for old farmer Dan here.

Clare, on the other hand, loved it. I still say to this day she is a city girl who got swapped over in the maternity ward and brought up in Oswaldtwistle. Clare would live in London or any big city just like that. She loves the hustle and bustle, the pace of life and having everything on her doorstep.

I was to find a stark change in me. On our second day I changed into the most efficient tour guide for Clare and all for the price of nothing. I realised that you can get across twenty miles of dense London traffic in less than a quarter of an hour. I had an epiphany and became an expert on the London Underground. Streets and places I had not been in for years suddenly were showing short cuts to me.

I was able to take Clare on a tour of my favourite buildings and sites in the city, including St Paul’s Cathedral, the Tower of London, Borough Market and Soho.

London had lit up its streets to me and for the first time it was a joy to be in my city. Even so, relief came a few days later when we exited the Pendolino train at Preston station and I felt the cold air of the north.