Further down the harbour you could buy a ticket for a big, sedately-moving cruise ship – as large as the old cross-Channel ferries used to be – which would take you on your Bay tour for a twenty. But we found this much smaller boat – a salmon-fishing charter boat, in fact – run by these large, rough-looking bearded guys who were offering the same tour for ten bucks. We went for it.

The large, rough-looking guys turned out to be not at all rough, friendly and helpful to a fault in truth. The captain gave a tour monologue over the loudspeakers that was richly well-informed and occasionally hilarious. But the best thing? It had been drizzling all day and blowing hard, the sky the colour of a paving slab, the Bay like slate and choppy. And that small boat pitched around hard, especially near the bridge supports. I had to cling on for dear life a few times and got hit by spray at least five. And we’d pass one of the bigger, more formal, more sedate boats every so often – they were barely rocking. And I’d peer at them curiously, wondering why anyone would want to pay twice as much money for half as much fun?