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It began with a weepy farewell. Off they went, our three lovely daughters – off to a summer camp at which they’d spend a couple of weeks hiking in the mountains and sleeping under canvas.

But then it dawned on us. We. Were. On. Our. Own. For the first time in years – yipperdy-doo-da – we didn't have children in tow. 

And if they were going to be having fun, as they surely were, then why couldn't we?

Romantic: The pair visited the pretty harbour at Barfleur (above). They also went to the D-Day landing beaches and their accompanying museums and then pushed further west, to Sainte-Mère Eglise, during their holiday

Now, as we stepped into the rosy dawn of post-child lives, we could spoil ourselves rotten. 

And the idea of it being just the two of us felt more appealing than a family day in the rain at Chessington World of Adventures.

‘How about Normandy?’ said Mrs Milton as she mulled the notion of a romantic break. ‘Great beaches, fabulous seafood and calvados.’

It ticked my boxes. So Normandy it was. Off we went with a clutch of recommended restaurants and the satisfaction of knowing we’d be paying only for two.

It’s easy to forget, until there’s just the two of you, how stressful family holidays can be. On this occasion, the drive went unusually smoothly. Even the weather had taken note of the fact that we were on a romantic break.

When the sea finally came into view (it was the English Channel, remember), it was glittering in the sunshine, like a sheet of crumpled silver foil.

The beach resort of Trouville, a bolthole for well-heeled Parisian pleasure-seekers, embraced us with welcoming arms. Next thing we knew, we were seated in Sebastien Saiter’s elegant pavement bar (it’s a Trouville institution) with two glasses of chilled champagne and a growing sense that life was on an upward curve.

We’d only intended to have a predinner aperitif, but before we could say ‘just a few oysters, please’, we found ourselves tucking into a gigantic platter of fruits-de-mer: a gargantuan heap of mussels, langoustine, lobster nd crab, all piled high on a thick bed of crushed ice.

Seafood heaven: Fruits-de-mer from one of Normandy's  restaurants

Trouville is the swanky gateway to the Pays d’Auge, a rural slab of inland Normandy that’s world-famous for two items of gastronomy: camembert and calvados.

You only have to drive a few miles inland to find yourself in an altogether more rustic world – one of patchwork fields, bosky meadows and heavily fortified farms that seem little changed since medieval times.

We drove to the sleepy village of Coquainvillers, where the Boulard family have been distilling calvados for five generations. They offer mouthwatering tours of their distillery, explaining how they perform alchemy on the local apples, transforming juice into exquisite liquor.

We’re led into the Boulards’ vast cellar, where thousands of litres of calvados slowly attain maturity in handcrafted oak barrels. We sniff, swill and swallow, before getting  all pretentious with our judgment.

‘A light touch of vanilla,’ says Mrs M, 'and just a hint of cinnamon.’ We’d been tipped the wink about a family run hotel a 40-minute drive to the west of the Boulards’ distillery. 

The Ferme de la Rançonnière is a 13th Century farm that the husband-and-wife owners, Isabelle and Koen Sileghem, have transformed into a comfortable hotel.

If you like your bedroom with beams, antiques and old fireplaces, this might be the place for you.

We momentarily reflected on our three girls living under canvas. We imagined the rain drip-dripping on to their sleeping bags. And then we headed to the hotel’s lavish restaurant.

We went for the full Normandy experience: a rich and silky home-made fish bisque, followed by a delicately flavoured parcel of chicken stuffed with local cured ham.

A blow-out Normandy feast would not be complete without the famous trou Normand – a miniature glass of calvados served between each course, to prepare the stomach for the next indulgence.

Barrels of fun: Giles at the calvados distillery. The Boulards’ vast cellar stocks thousands of litres of calvados, which slowly attains maturity in handcrafted oak barrels

Our week-long tour of Normandy drifted along on a wave of enchantment.

We visited Barfleur, the D-Day landing beaches and their accompanying museums (Utah Beach Museum is superb), and then pushed further west, to Sainte-Mère Eglise, the first town in France to be liberated in June 1944.

Don’t miss the revamped Airborne Museum, which tells the story of the American troops who parachuted in on the early hours of D-Day.

We arrived on market day and found one of the enterprising stall-holders grilling local sausages over charcoal.

We devoured a couple before heading to another lovely farm-turned-hotel, the Grand-Hard La Rivière. Owned and restored by a Belgian couple, it’s centred around a sun-splashed courtyard – perfect for evening drinks.

On the last evening we got a text message from our daughter Heloise.

‘All good at our end. Everyone happy.’

As we settled down in front of another half lobster, we sent a message back. ‘All good here, too.’ We meant it.

• Giles's book: The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare is on sale.