I'd forgotten how special this peninsula is and especially how wild Red Rocks can feel even though it's so close to houses, roads and the Royal Liverpool. It always felt a sort of secret refuge when I was little, and it's lost none of that magic. It's just about at the very point where the Wirral turns one if it's top edge corners to meet the Irish Sea.
On Sunday the evening was balmy and warm and the last bits of the evening sun were glistening over the mouth of the Dee, across Hilbre, Great Orme, Ynys Mon and all the way from Ireland.
And the gorse was ablaze, just as it will be in Anglesey and the Llyn at the moment.
So I'll leave you to enjoy walking with us along the edge of the sandhills and the beach - with little skylarks singing their hearts out overhead . . .
and leaving too early for the bestest of sunsets, we watched it burning away in the distance from a zooming M53 on our way back over the Pennines.
Ahh - perfect end to a fabulous Sunday - because, going back in time, this is what we were up to earlier in the day - our first ever visit to Gladstone's haunts in Hawarden.