Squalls and howling wolves
With Lorraine there, I managed to sleep like a baby. A worrying development. Does this now mean that sleeping without Lorraine induces nightmares?
A relaxed start to the day, although I got up early to do some writing. Eventually, after a tomatoes on toast breakfast we sloped off to Icart. A fine bright morning, with the sun shafting through onto the cliffs bringing all the autumnal colours out: the dark greens, russets and purple of the cliffs, and the turquoise sea. After walking around to the top of Saints Bay, we decided to walk back. The sky suddenly dark and brooding, and we watched as a squall raced towards us over the sea, the wind picked up dramatically, and the sea turned rough and chopping, as we reached Icart icy rain was stinging our faces, and we were literally blown back into the carpark.
Made off in the pouring rain to The Captains, where we had a late lunch of bottles of Pony Ale, which its label calls a Pale Ale despite it being dark. Sat quietly there engulfing a lobster bisque, followed by a fisherman's pie. Lorraine had scampi and chips.
Home in the afternoon for a snooze, before we caught a bus into town, and found our way to The Cock & Bull pub, simply by asking the people standing outside the pub next door where it was. A nice pub, which was unfortunately showing Rugby on a panopticon of screens. Eventually Richard, Jane, and Lorraine's pals Mandy and Michael found ourselves a quiet place to sit, and chat. A enjoyable drink, with Richard and I sipping glasses of Howling Wolf beer, as befits poets.
Fond farewells as Richard and Jane made off into the night. We are hoping they can come and stay in Brighton with us next year for a sample of Brighton life.
Lorraine and I then had a decent curry with Michael and Mandy who I rather liked. They are ex-colleagues of Lorraine. Michael is Head of Strings on the island, and has been doing the job for two years and already loves the island. They gave us a lift home after the meal, which was excellent. And so to bed.
Below Icart Point, colours in the cliffs, dog and lion rocks towards Moulin Huet bay, turning weather, the squall approaches.
A relaxed start to the day, although I got up early to do some writing. Eventually, after a tomatoes on toast breakfast we sloped off to Icart. A fine bright morning, with the sun shafting through onto the cliffs bringing all the autumnal colours out: the dark greens, russets and purple of the cliffs, and the turquoise sea. After walking around to the top of Saints Bay, we decided to walk back. The sky suddenly dark and brooding, and we watched as a squall raced towards us over the sea, the wind picked up dramatically, and the sea turned rough and chopping, as we reached Icart icy rain was stinging our faces, and we were literally blown back into the carpark.
Made off in the pouring rain to The Captains, where we had a late lunch of bottles of Pony Ale, which its label calls a Pale Ale despite it being dark. Sat quietly there engulfing a lobster bisque, followed by a fisherman's pie. Lorraine had scampi and chips.
Home in the afternoon for a snooze, before we caught a bus into town, and found our way to The Cock & Bull pub, simply by asking the people standing outside the pub next door where it was. A nice pub, which was unfortunately showing Rugby on a panopticon of screens. Eventually Richard, Jane, and Lorraine's pals Mandy and Michael found ourselves a quiet place to sit, and chat. A enjoyable drink, with Richard and I sipping glasses of Howling Wolf beer, as befits poets.
Fond farewells as Richard and Jane made off into the night. We are hoping they can come and stay in Brighton with us next year for a sample of Brighton life.
Lorraine and I then had a decent curry with Michael and Mandy who I rather liked. They are ex-colleagues of Lorraine. Michael is Head of Strings on the island, and has been doing the job for two years and already loves the island. They gave us a lift home after the meal, which was excellent. And so to bed.
Below Icart Point, colours in the cliffs, dog and lion rocks towards Moulin Huet bay, turning weather, the squall approaches.
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