Clegg looked at the man. His uniform had the well-used look of a career naval officer but carried the wavy stripes of the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserv...; he hadn't just joined up as far as Clegg could see. On the other hand, Clegg didn't think he'd been at sea for quite a while. The man's pale complexion spoke of a war that had been spent indoors and ashore; the briefcase that lay on the bar beside him was padlocked to his wrist. What was more, on the far side of the bar a particularly. But that all changed as we moored at Lundy and began the rocky trudge up to the single building which served as pub, restaurant, and accommodation. It was close to midday, the air still, and an app on my phone gave a temperature of around 80F – I preferred the imperial gauge as I'd grown up with 70 being the symbolic threshold across which 'OK' became 'hot'. I had brought the camera with me for two reasons. Firstly, one of the main reasons for the trip to Ilfracombe had been to use it, so why. More

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