"Okay," he says, the verbal equivalent of his usual slow intake of breath before doing something dangerous, and takes both her hands in his.

By the time the first three members of staff inevitably arrive, the pair of them are quite obviously a tourist having a mid-life crisis and his new trophy girlfriend, and the great thing about looking like a very rich tourist having a mid-life crisis is how few questions people are prepared to ask you.

He coughs; they stare wide eyed.

(Two men, mid-twenties, fit, one early-stage liver damage, the other with a newly-recovered collarbone break; one woman, early twenties, fit, unsuitable high heels she's not confident in.)

"Uh. Sorry, guys. I guess we got a little... enthusiastic."

Smug, overlaid by contrition that's clearly fake.