GIBRALTAR.

You really do have to wonder sometimes. No, you really do. When two great nations – that would be the UK and Spain – are squabbling over a little bit of rock – that would be Gibraltar - you really do have to wonder why.

From their side, it’s because it’s basically in Spain. Which might be fair enough if The Canaries weren’t basically in Africa and yet still somehow Spanish. From ours, it’s basically strategic and because it’s been British for the last 300 years or so and because it has a branch of Boots. Because there really is no other reason anyone should covet this little bit of the worst parts of Britain set in the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea, twenty or so miles from the coast of Africa, as impressive as it looks – usually swathed in cloud – as you approach.

As you walk up the main street towards where the famously naughty monkeys are (they’re actually Barbary Apes, or macaques, but a naughty monkey is a naughty monkey and these ones put around 50 people in hospital every year), you might as well be in Kidderminster. Or Croydon. Or Gatwick Airport South Terminal. There’s the Boots we were talking about. There’s WHSmith with the same special offers outside. There’s M&S.

You can buy Gaviscon in that chemist there and The Daily Mail in that newsagents there and Marmite in the Morrisons. And you can get a pint in the dodgy-looking English pubs that wouldn’t be out of place near the station in Margate. And post your letter in the red post box. And breathe in the smell of fish and chips. Really, what was the point of coming away?

Yes, it’s busy but that’s because the cruise ships bring in thousands of captives every day. You’ll see them walking the grim bit of road (with people driving on the left! Hooray, etc.) from the port into town, wondering how this happened when only yesterday they were in Cartagena having tapas in the town square and looking at a Roman amphitheatre. Here the sights are – let’s see - a big cannon, which marks the spot where Lord Nelson’s body was brought ashore. A cable car that takes you up to the Planet of the Apes, and when they’re not attacking you, those monkeys will steal anything that’s not actually tied to your body – seriously, it’s like Oliver Twist up there. And St. Michael’s Cave, which you can get into if you take the cable car up to the Nature Reserve and walk down. This might actually be your highlight: big enough to host concerts and fashion shows, there’s even an underground lake if you take the long tour.

There is another side to the island, a swishy, tax-haveny side where the Real Housewives of Cheshire have second homes and where there’s a bit of a yacht scene that they can wear tight white jeans, corky wedges and gold jewellery to. But the atmosphere is generally pinched and mean and even the historical buildings seem uninspired and uninspiring.

The Rock, as they like to call it (that’s also the name of the smartest hotel here by the way) is certainly geographically remarkable and the views across the Straits of Gibraltar to Africa can be amazing. And Spain is just there. But why would anyone really come so far when all that Gibraltar holds is available a bus ride away?