Brightly coloured earrings. Rugged, worn-in hands. Hat askew. And a metal detector.
He came over to show my 6-year-old a coin he’d just found. It had obviously spent decades being beaten around in the tide, but we could just make out a date.
He asked about my camera, I told him it wasn’t much younger than the coin. "How old?", he asked.
I asked if I could take his portrait, and burnt through half a roll of film.
He invited us back to his house. “I’ve got a lovely garden,” he said.
I declined, politely.