Ten o’clock at night and it is still 24 degrees out, at least according to the dashboard of Anne’s car.
I feel as if I should be strolling down to some café near the harbour and joining in with the clink of bottle and glass. The pesky violinist is a bit of a nuisance but he knows I will give him some money to go away. There is laughter at all the tables around and we sit back quietly enjoying the atmosphere after yet another busy sun soaked day.
The harbour is strung with lights and the masts that grow in it are barely moving in what little breeze there is. In the distance the blink of a lighthouse offers reassurance. The occasional scooter scoots by hooting the occasional squeaky horn.
The smell of barbecued lamb tempts us and we tuck in, squeezing lemon juice over the meat and dipping bread into the juices on the plate. Washed down with red wine it is very satisfying and we order another bottle.
Eventually the numbers start to dwindle. The violinist has packed away his instrument and walked off up the narrow cobbled side streets to his home. We settle up and follow suit. Back at the apartment we fall asleep on top of the bed with the windows open. We will be back the next day.
I drive down to pick Hannah and her friends up from Nandos at the Brayford in Lincoln and drop them at home. I can but dream!