In 1968 we were camped en masse at Cleethorpes, that ever so long walk back from the pier. Late at night many Angels or similar on bikes encircled our camp fire and singing and we though we were done for. No, they were a more respectful audience than many; listened for a long time, never interrupted until at an unseen signal all rode off. We weren't drinking Sam Smiths, possibly Watneys Party Seven.