Well, I type this as a gibbering ruin of a man. My life for the last ten days or so has been bedlam, with a touch of chaos, a hint of anarchy, and more than a little fevered turmoil. I should start by saying that I have a slight touch of man flu. Which is real by the way. I looked it up, and it's classified by the World Health Organisation as "A virulent strain of normal flu which effects only chaps, and is entirely unfathomable to ladies". I am struggling heroically on, but fear that I may weaken before the end of this column (said the Duchess to the Vicar).

Anyway, to recap. A week and half ago we - that's me, Tam, Andy and Lucy - triumphantly threw open the doors of the shop at precisely 10 o'clock. We all stood behind the counter, beaming expectantly, and then the most extraordinary thing happened. Absolutely nothing. There was no rush, no gaggle of delighted punters eager to relive me of books and DVD's whilst pressing crumpled tenners into my clammy palm, all the while whispering "Keep the change" as they delightedly thumbed through their new volume of amusing tales about Reuben. Oh no. We just stood there for a while, as all around was a kind of embarrassed silence broken only by a slight cough and a vague shuffling of the feet as we all studiously avoided each others eyes.

And then, a man came in. A perfectly normal, nice man. On holiday with his family in Dartmouth. He just happened to be wandering past, and thought he'd pop in and browse. And browse he did, under the expectant gaze of all five of us, our eyes collectively boring into the back of the poor chaps head. And then....and...then...he picked up a copy of the sizzling bodice ripper that is "The Great Escape" volume one, plainly liked the heft of it, and said (as you would) "I'd like to buy this please."

Seldom can those words have created such an exhalation of relief, and a rush of impeccable service. One of us reverentially took the book off him, the other retrieved a "Monty Halls Great Escapes" branded bag from under the counter, another panicked and tried to make a cappucino from the coffee machine that wasn't switched on yet, and another just stared at the - now thoroughly alarmed - chap with the adoring gaze of acolyte. If Carlsberg made shop assistants, they would be exactly like us at that precise moment. Anyway here is a photo of the historic moment, consisting of an alarmed man and his lovely family, and a delighted new business owner.

So, the clock reads six minutes past ten, and we were seven quid up on the day. Keep this up and we'd be millionaires by August.

Happily the rest of the day proved if not quite busy, then certainly active enough to make us realise that we had absolutely no idea how to work the till. Modern tills are heinously complex bits of kit, with a brain bigger than ours and all manner of buttons. How I wished for an Arkwright style till with massive levers and drawer that went ding. Anyway, we muddled through, and were then into the evening and a little party we'd organised for anyone local who fancied coming along. Happily this turned out to be quite a few people, and so the evening passed in an increasingly burpy, amiable, glassy eyed way.



This was a potential survival situation as by this stage I'd been talking so much that dehydration was plainly a serious concern. Happily Suze spotted the impeding crisis, and every time I looked up she was walking towards me with a full pint which I drank in a medicinal manner. This proved to be a splendid development, meaning that each story I told became increasingly far fetched, with me assuming a more centrally heroic role every time. Here's a piccie, although I must say she appears to have taken a few sips of this one to test it (and has assumed the facial expression of the recently rumbled).

 Lots and lots and lots then happened over the next ten days. The best way I can describe it is in pictures. Suffice to say it was a great time with great people and we made about £2.50 profit in total as we were just trying things out. So here we go......

That was an experimental shorewalk with family, friends, and a few people who had gamely paid a reduced fee to come along. The people in the bottom picture giving me bist of seaweed are my big sister and her two brilliant kids, Charlie and Gemma. The whole thing was great fun, particularly as it came complete with a burbling drunk who got punchy in the car park where we met up, as he was off his face on Alcopops. Never let it be said that we don't know how to show our clients a good time....

This was out in the RIB testing the routes we're going to use / being suckered into going really fast by everyone in the boat yelling "I don't care if it's a razorbill or a guillemot, MAKE THE BOAT GO FAST!" So I had to.

 
This was Tam's photo as we set out on our first trip.

Anyway, we're hanging on in there, things are starting to make sense, and we're figuring out a plan for the bedlam of the approaching Summer. A massive thanks to everyone in Dartmouth who has been so kind to us, which is pretty much everyone in Dartmouth now I come to think of it.

More in a week or so.

Nice.

Monty