‘They can’t all be fans of arthouse movies,’ he says.

‘No need. A place like this, you don’t even have to try. Conversations come easy. People look you in the eye, even strangers. At first, it felt almost menacing. Then I wondered if people were taking advantage somehow, being slightly forward. Now, it’s just the norm. Come with me, mon brave, no one’s going to hurt you, I promise.’

I reach for him on purpose, knowing he hates physical contact, but for once he relents and we march down towards the seafront arm in arm. The earlier sunshine has gone. A thick duvet of grey cloud has appeared in the west, and the wind appears to be freshening by the minute.

We pause for a moment on the promenade. The waves are beginning to break out at sea, sporting brief little collars of white spume, and offshore I can see a lone windsurfer, stitching up and down, riding the magic carpet beneath his feet. From time to time, he takes off on the bigger waves, making tiny adjustments to his weight on the board before skimming off on another tack.

‘Amazing.’ Mitch is shaking his head. ‘Someone under fifty, has to be.’

I ignore the dig. The willowy figure beneath the scarlet sail belongs in a circus, and the harder I look, the more I’m convinced I know him.

‘His name’s Presley,’ I tell Mitch. ‘I think.’

We elect to settle on the nearby wooden bench. From his messenger bag, Mitch has produced a pair of binoculars. He tracks the lone windsurfer for a minute or two, smiling at his wilder tricks, then hands the binos to me. I’m right. I recognize the hair streaming out in the wind, the breadth of his shoulders, the sheer reach he seems to have. Definitely Presley.

For a long time, like the spectators we are, we enjoy the performance. Then comes a wave that is too big, and too mean, even for Presley. His board rears up and he briefly fights to control it before the next wave dumps him in the sea. He must be two hundred metres out, maybe even more. Through the powerful binos, I can almost touch him as he struggles to flip the sail across the board, but this is a battle even Budleigh’s superman doesn’t seem to be winning.

‘What do we do?’ Mitch is looking worried.

‘We wait. He’s good. Let’s see what happens.’