Paignton

At night-time, Paignton becomes the Las Vegas of Torbay; it has more amusement arcades than Torquay and Brixham put together, and in its central boulevard probably more strollers and revellers together than in either of the other tourist monsters.

Take a brief walk inland along any number of tiny side streets and you pass the mass of tiny guest-houses, each with its proud sign stating its great attractions and why you should choose their place over any rival: Sky TV, en-suite bathroon, breakfast room... the list is endless. And endlessly enchanting. These hostelries are seagulls around the great chip shop or trawler of the town itself, though one which never enjoyed any seafaring traditiona and owes its very existence to the arrival of the railway in about 1850.

The seagulls are fed by the endless mass of tourists sardines, whose shawl arrives not from the Bay of Biscay but from Birmingham, among other places.

For me, the greatest delight is the railway station and its steam trains. The sound of steam, shunting and whistles still enlivens this delightful seaside paradise, altogether a throwback to the 1950s.