The Arniston of the West Coast, Paternoster ('Our Father') is a weather-beaten community of whitewashed fishermen’s cottages, toothless grannies dozing in the morning sun, lines of colourful washing and… rampant development. Like the rest of the country this pretty Grecian bay hasn’t escaped property mania and the number of spec houses popping up is a little worrying. Moving a mile or so up the coast from Paternoster, the road ends in a cul-de-sac at Tieties Bay, a pristine part of the world deriving its name, not from the female anatomy, as some may think, but apparently from a fisherman called Titus who had the misfortune of drowning in the bay.