CORNISH RIVIERA!

I wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to Wilson, but there's no use messing around — I grasped the nettle and told him straight.

'Um, Wilson,' I began, 'Can you spare me a minute? It's about our upcoming holiday.'

He turned, muted the travelogue he was watching, put down his glass of 901 Blue and gave me his full attention.

'I'm afraid we won't be going to Fiji...' 

He raised his eyebrows quizzically, but I pressed on.

'Nor Bora Bora, nor the Seychelles...'

His gaze hardened.

'The Bahamas then?' he enquired. I shook my head.

'Ibiza? Paris? Venice?' he persisted.

'Newquay!' I announced, 'We're going to Newquay — it's lovely there in the summer, lots of beaches and pretty little villages...' I grew quiet under his increasingly baleful stare.

'Nookey?' he repeated, doubtfully. 'And where, pray, is this... "Nookey"?'

'It's in Cornwall,' I replied encouragingly, 'It's on the Cornish Riviera!'