Circa 1980, the Mannin Hotel. Huge twin bedroom with vertical patterned flock wallpaper, one light fitting, a sink in the corner of the room, thin carpet. One sash window, looking inward over aluminium kitchen vents, a bathroom a grope away down a shadowy corridor. Dinner on the dot, with glasses of fruit juice served as a starter. Plate of meat and two veg, rounded off with trifle or some other sweet luxury. Rarely wine, never coffee. Always a walk down the promenade.

Strange when a memory comes back to you so suddenly and strongly.