And we are ...

"Ah, yes, indeed, landlord. A fine foaming pint of your best Old Perlican, if you would be so good! Your very good health! Cheers!"

Well, no, not quite, though it sounds like a CAMRA candidate rather than a fishing port, and by the time we tie up, I could just do with a pint or two, but not of Old Perlican, which meets and greets you some way out to sea, with the matured odour of crustacean. This, we find out, emanates from the shrimp processing plant, which is where we tie up.

We had motored into the harbour, wondering where to to - the public wharves are painted yellow - but are all in use by fishing boats. A bunch of guys point us round the corner, where a couple more tell us to tie up to "that red boat over there". They are pointing to a white boat, with a narrow red trim. J hears "red" as "radar" and heads for the boat behind the white/red boat. I jump on to this, rope in teeth and we pull ourselves alongside the red/white one.

This is an interesting alongside moor. The boat has an aft area. It has a bow area. It has a very large cabin dividing the two areas. Problem - how to get from front to back - quickly, quickly now - before Fortune's stern drifts away. J holds on to the red/white boat amidships, while I "is this in my terms of contract, Jack?" scamper along an outside ledge a toehold wide, the only external connection between the bow and stern of this boat. I shimmy back and forth several times before J approves the mooring.

I'm going to hit the town. I buy a pound of shrimp (5 dollars - fishermen get 33 cents/pound one of them tells me later) from the plant, and a cappuccino (!) from the local store-that-sells-everything (even fireworks) and is open 7-11. But the store, and a takeaway opposite are the town, so no pint of OP, after all.

Shrimp in ginger, garlic and soy for supper, with salad and rice. I shall have to write a boat cook book. J very complimentary - now nice!