We don’t get to Ramsgate as much as we’d like. Some of our London friends are strong-minded, refusing all invitations for the weekend. We find something keeps disrupting our plans: generally, children. Going to London schools, their friends’ parties take place in town. This Saturday, it was a paintballing party, to which the hosts rightly thinking that I haven’t fully grown up had generously invited me, too. My idea of going straight from the paintballing ground, a wood outside Maidstone, on to Ramsgate after battle had finished was vetoed by Johnny and William.

Going back on the coach was, they said, an essential part of the experience and when I saw the coach I could see why. It had leather seats, blacked-out windows, a screen for PlayStation and karaoke the decibel level can be imagined. As a country sport, paint-balling may not rival partridge shooting for finesse, but I recommend it for exercise. Our party of 15, mostly 11-year-olds, discharged 11,500 paintballs. Fortunately, the little yellow balls biodegrade.