Yannock 'knock knock' Loussouarn is a stalwart on the beaches of France's bottom left corner, whenever Biscay heft combines with clement atmospherics and precocious Gallic surf talent.

Armed with camera, tripod and usually an oversized mid 2000's snowjacket/pants, Knock Knock's dishevelled appearance underlines his principle focus: Being in focus.

Not partaking in the tight shorts/wide brimmed felt hat/hipster wank cameraman fashion parade, the man is, as Martin Luther King didn't say, rightly "judged by the content and character of his memory card, rather than the colour of his Pata #wornwear cloak."

While perhaps not as cute as the baby fox his vowel-rich family name takes after, he's as likely to be seen in the pre-dawn deftly eeking out an existence, and certainly less of a nuisance in terms of scavenging household refuse bags in the suburbs.

'Six months in SW France' is not a custodial sentence. It's a pleasure. A Year In Provence? Never heard of her...

Long live Yannock! Long live la Graviere! And long live the 5th Republic!