The walk down Daymer Lane should take around four minutes, but with three children aged from four to seven (and a quarter), squabbling and regularly stopping to de-stone crocs, it takes close to fifteen.

The journey is fraught with danger—4x4s (the only cars apparently allowed in Daymer Lane) barrel down the single lane road at a brake neck speed, steel haired women at the wheel, flinging pedestrians, children and parents alike into the hedgerows.

We arrive unscathed at Daymer Beach and are ready for the bracing waves (clearly it is raining). But we are one surfboard short. Three children sharing 2 surfboards is as likely as Take That taking Robbie back AGAIN, particularly as Lucy has to have a pink one.

Daymer Bay Beach shop sells everything from a life-empowering post-surf cappuccino to rather dubiously luminescent ice cream with matching flip flops and is manned by a gentleman of indeterminate age, with a similarly indeterminate number of tattoos across the entirety of his arms and probably upper torso.

Jim, Lucy's dad, has never been to Trebetherwick, let alone to Daymer Bay Beach and is £17.99 short of the full £27.99 needed for said pink surfboard.  So he proffers his tatty tenner in some vague attempt at bargaining and combines humour with the promise of the balance later that day. Fat chance?  The thought of climbing back up Daymer lane looms.

But this is Cornwall. "No problem young man (Jim is 46), pop in later and pay the difference". Mr Tattoo hands over the pink ironing board masquerading as the ultimate surf machine and we leave.

Lucy is happy. Jim is very happy. And, in a single, small but generous gesture, we have forgotten the clouds and the rain and the seven hour drive - our holiday has started with a smile and goodwill.

See you next year Daymer Bay (oh and Jim did pay the balance).