“AREN’T you going to search me?” asks a blonde woman, pushing her way to the front of the beach bar queue.
Her wedding ring glints in the moonlight as she runs her manicured fingers down the bouncer’s arm.
It’s 11pm on a Friday night and I’m on patrol with the local security guards – who tell me how they are chatted up every night by yummy mummies holidaying in posh Polzeath, Cornwall.
While the parents quaff champagne at the bar, their little darlings cause chaos on the idyllic beach.
Once a hangout for Prince Harry, the picturesque village is now the party capital of the UK – with fed-up locals complaining of “tearaway teens having sex everywhere” and turning their home into more down-at-heel “Newquay”.