Although it had become rather shabby, so far there had been no good reason to redecorate the rooms at the back of our flat. The kitchen was serviceable (provided that you remembered that the hob on the oven could never be completely turned off) and the extension provided somewhere quiet to sit. There was no point in suggesting a revamp to TPR because one simply wasn’t necessary – until the day that a gust of wind blew the whole extension off the back of the building.

Very quickly my plans for a new conservatory transformed into a business case for opening a tea room. We could also transfer our shop into the same premises rather than keep it at the other end of the fishing village where we lived. Unfortunately the shop staff were not so keen. Equally, the P family, including their newly adopted baby girl, showed little interest in the plans. RP and her brother G were more intrigued as to how we managed to fry potato scones on the semi-defunct oven hob.

Later we walked up to the village, stopping only to help some tourists with directions to Ben Learg. I was astonished how quiet it was everywhere, then realised that I rarely came this way on weekdays because I was always so hard at work. We stood high above the harbour and looked out to sea, hoping to catch sight of some seals, or possibly dolphins. At one point I thought I spotted a whale, but I was mistaken. Instead three black camels emerged from the water, followed by a family of elephants.