It was very hot for late September. We (that’s me an’ ’er) drove through picturesque Wales, ending up, as recommended by the curtain queen Joan Reen (I told you about her last week), in Aberdyfi (Welsh) or Aberdovey (British), on a pretty estuary somewhere. You want to know precisely, get a road map. It was 1pm. My lunchtime. Promptly. No delays.

The most interesting place seemed to be the Britannia Inn, overlooking the harbour. Just the place to sit in the sun. The only exterior was a small balcony.

“It’s full,” observed Geraldine.

“Let’s go and see,” I suggested.

“Why?” asked Geraldine. “There are no seats.”

“Maybe,” I said.

We walked upstairs and on to the balcony. It was indeed full. I stared at a couple who seemed to be near the end of their meal.

“You going?” I asked helpfully.

“We’re leaving soon,” they said.

“Let’s have a drink at the bar,” suggested Geraldine.

“We’ll get the table if I stay and stare at the people occupying it,” I recommended.

I did. They left early. It’s marvellous how accommodating people are when I become a pain.

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