That Christmas moment.

Of course it's not really just about the lights, the low budget that funds them or the capable volunteers who uncomplainingly support them, it's not even about the RNLI or the Clovelly Estate Company that benefit from them. This is not a High street show designed to match the seasonal celebrations or parties that rock the homes and hotels; or encourage the hurried shoppers looking for those little festive extras, the buy one get one free, store for war deals, under the influence of dated Christmas hits played repeatedly by loudspeaker, busker and band.

It's not about that one cold day in December when the whispering Northerly winds bite into the gathering, chattering people, excited and expectant, cuddled in woollen hats and scarves with mittened fingers clasping plastic mugs of hot chocolate or mulled punch.

It's not the Dickensian charm of the Hartland Town Band or the male voice choir that leads the huddled mass in hymn and carol, or the fine voiced readers who repeat the well rehearsed lessons of Christmas past.

Not the Father Christmas, dressed up and jolly, the children believing, the parents needing something to believe; the meeting of Christmas card friends, rarely seen from one Winter to the next. Or the grand firework finale that explodes into the night sky adding sparkle and colour to the lights, combining with the clear night sky stars, falling over the harbour to gasps and delight.

It's about that one moment, the switch on second, the time when nothing else matters, other than to be here, when no one cares who you're stood beside, when for once everybody wants the same thing and everyone waits, with the night ending with that peaceful satisfaction that we have all been part of something special.