"Welcome to Sunny Firson" the sign proclaimed proudly. In a cliched fashion, it was not sunny. It was in fact raining, as it is prone to do in such places. I checked the tourist brochure again - the picture of a warm, sunny beach mocked me happily. Firson, it appeared, didn't have a beach. It was actually 73 miles from the coast, and the only place in England to actually have a week of night every Winter.
There was no accommodation. In fact, there was no town either. It appeared a strong wind had blown most of it away, and deposited it somewhere near Liverpool. After an hour of searching, I found a tourist information board advertising the local attraction. This attraction appeared to be a particularly large sheep with a sign saying "alpaca" around its neck. I returned to my car, but it was out of petrol.
I sheltered under the sign until the rain stopped, then tried to find a saddle for the sheep.