Uncertainty clouded his face. “I’m a cribbie,” he ex­plained. “My family have had a crib down near the heads for 60 years.” I could see the problem. Sixty years as a cribbie probably didn’t make you a local. But when you’re keen to chat to the locals and one comes knocking on your door, you don’t split hairs. “Hop in out of the cold,” I said.