"Who here likes perfume?" asks Henrycot as we bob in a cove alongside the mangroves in a flotilla of yellow and orange plastic kayaks.
He's read the room, or the sea, well. The unlikely crew of kayakers, some, until then, seemingly more concerned about fitting fashionable sun hats into open-water selfies than paddling across the channel, are momentarily relieved of their anguish.
A few hands rise silently from beneath the headgear, and Henrycot continues.