The Mariners was already in full Saturday-night swing when I arrived. All the tables on the terrace were taken and the sidewalk was rapidly filling up with the overflow, as standing room only began to apply. I pushed through the throng and went inside to the bar. The small, oak-paneled room, hung with nets and rods and lobster pots and all manner of fishing memorabilia, was already at least ten deep at the bar and hot as Hades. Through the crowd already at the bar placing an order, I could see Ted, towering above the rest. He was waving his arms as if conducting an orchestra, surrounded by students. Babs was there, too, helpfully handing out the drinks.

"Coo-ee, darling!" she cried. She waved extravagantly, clearly loving her role as magician's assistant. "Just like old times, isn't it? Just getting them in — what'll you have? One of these?" She held up what looked like gin with a tonic bottle.

"Please!" I called back as I retreated to the periphery of the crowd.

Ted was dispensing more drinks to the youngsters behind him, rolling his eyes as they jumped on the bandwagon with huge endearing smiles. Then with a sudden — “that's your lot!" — he handed the barman a fistful of money and pocketed the change. Holding the glasses high, he muscled his way through to me.

“Freeloading yobs," he muttered, handing me my drink.

I grinned. "And you wonder why you're so popular."

"Oh, total cupboard love, I agree. I'm under no illusions. Come on. Let's get out of here."

“This place has got worse — it's absolutely heaving," I complained as we jostled our way through the crowds on the sidewalk, trying not to spill our drinks.

"Rather pejorative, surely?" Ted enquired with a grin. “’Buzzing’ or ‘happening’ could also apply."

"Only if you're a tourist," I said wryly, as we made our way, with Babs in tow, to the sea wall on the other side of the road. “Trust me, the locals like their peace and quiet."

"You speak for yourself," Babs objected as she and I went to perch on the wall together. Ted stood facing us, gazing out to sea, a view I could tell he was happy with and would easily forgo a seat for. "If you live down here full-time it gets jolly quiet in the winter. I don't mind the merry throng at all."

"And you can bet the locals don't turn their noses up at the dosh the tourists bring, either," Ted remarked.

"Well, quite. Ken behind the bar didn't look too distressed when you handed him a wad of cash."

"Hang on — I live here! I mean, only recently, but I'm not a tourist. Cheers!" He raised his glass and we raised ours back.

"Cheers." We all sipped together.

"No Celia?" asked Ted, wiping froth from his mouth.

"No, she said she wanted to work late. She's somewhere along the coast waiting for a Turneresque sunset."