It was a lovely day. In Castletown in the Isle Of Man. The sky was the kind of blue you normally can only find in a Photoshop palette. We had walked around the town, taking in the sights. We walked back to the railway station and next to the station was the kind of pub that only normally exists in your imagination. White walls. Hanging baskets of blossom. Inside there were shady rooms and a row of hand-pulled real ales as long as your thirst.