Beyond Portobello, where the hills pull back from the sea, a side road leads down to the curious settlement of Harwood, named for a whaling company storeman who stayed on to became a farmer and local dignitary. Although very much a seaside community—vast white tidal sandflats lie just across the road—the place has a decidedly down-at-heel air. Outbursts of flowering gorse and broom litter the verges and paint peels in leisurely fashion from many a wall. Old Fiats, Bedfords and Austins, their best days now just a rusting memory, lie in rank grass around the houses.