A distant gleam shone through the weight of his troubles, seeming to promise the dawn of a new day.

A foot kiss leaves no shred of doubt about the pecking order.

‘What kind of dog is Eddie?’ I asked curiously. ‘He’s a Westiepoo.’ ‘A what?’ ‘Westiepoo,’ repeated Nikki, ‘a West Highland White Terrier/Poodle mix. I’m pretty much obsessed with poos.’

Seaside resorts in the off-season are really depressing.