Got on my walking boots and sauntered down to the not so lonely sea and sky, then off along the coast towards Rottingdean. Stunningly beautiful morning. Very bright, sunny and windy; the sea quite rough and lovely. I walked out past Brighton Marina under white cliffs where I poked about in a few tidal pools which were made of chalky, almost bone-like rock. Photos below.
After a few miles, I stopped at a friendly little cafe under the cliffs at Ovingdean and had the best cup of tea I can remember. Full fat milk, a white sugar and leaning against the seawall listening to the roar of the waves. Something about the sea, and the the fatty milk reminded me of the kind of tea my Grandmother used to make when I was a kid in Guernsey, and vividly brought her to mind.
Walking back I was adopted for ten minutes by a black dog with nice eyes carrying a plastic bottle in its mouth. Perhaps it was the fact its fangs were occupied, but I found myself quite warming to it.
Later I experienced The Bad Side of Seagulls. Normally Seagulls and Peter Kennys inhabit their own spheres of influence with little or no friction. But as I walked back through the middle of town three hours after I had set off, there was a fierce kerfuffle in the sky by the Natwest bank near the Pavilion. Suddenly I was being showered in bird shit by one of those screaming mad-eyed swine. Clearly on purpose too. The droppings were white and, surprisingly, brown. Walked back up to my Twitten through the Saturday lunchtime crowds, thus decorated, trying not to think about what unspeakable ingredient had made the guano in my hair go brown.
Perhaps it is some kind of Brighton initiation.
Finding it quite hard to relax at the moment, but all the physical stuff helping. Although in the afternoon I felt tired and twitchy and the brief return of my old enemy the ecoptic heart beat made me decide that taking it easy tomorrow might not be a bad idea after a gruelling week. I spent most of the afternoon cleaning and tidying. My bedroom now smells of polish and doesn't have rubbish piled in it any more, which is nice.
In the evening walked up the hill and had a lovely meal and plenty of chat with Janet and Ken. Always lovely to see them. Janet showed me some small bowls she had made from silk which were very unusual. She is plotting a nice piece of art for a project, which is a way of demonstrating the network of relationships people have, which is a nice concept.
Somebody unplugged me from the mains at 10:00 and I made my excuses and headed down the road straight into my bed.
Below... The sea. And looking down into a tidal pool made from white rock.
After a few miles, I stopped at a friendly little cafe under the cliffs at Ovingdean and had the best cup of tea I can remember. Full fat milk, a white sugar and leaning against the seawall listening to the roar of the waves. Something about the sea, and the the fatty milk reminded me of the kind of tea my Grandmother used to make when I was a kid in Guernsey, and vividly brought her to mind.
Walking back I was adopted for ten minutes by a black dog with nice eyes carrying a plastic bottle in its mouth. Perhaps it was the fact its fangs were occupied, but I found myself quite warming to it.
Later I experienced The Bad Side of Seagulls. Normally Seagulls and Peter Kennys inhabit their own spheres of influence with little or no friction. But as I walked back through the middle of town three hours after I had set off, there was a fierce kerfuffle in the sky by the Natwest bank near the Pavilion. Suddenly I was being showered in bird shit by one of those screaming mad-eyed swine. Clearly on purpose too. The droppings were white and, surprisingly, brown. Walked back up to my Twitten through the Saturday lunchtime crowds, thus decorated, trying not to think about what unspeakable ingredient had made the guano in my hair go brown.
Perhaps it is some kind of Brighton initiation.
Finding it quite hard to relax at the moment, but all the physical stuff helping. Although in the afternoon I felt tired and twitchy and the brief return of my old enemy the ecoptic heart beat made me decide that taking it easy tomorrow might not be a bad idea after a gruelling week. I spent most of the afternoon cleaning and tidying. My bedroom now smells of polish and doesn't have rubbish piled in it any more, which is nice.
In the evening walked up the hill and had a lovely meal and plenty of chat with Janet and Ken. Always lovely to see them. Janet showed me some small bowls she had made from silk which were very unusual. She is plotting a nice piece of art for a project, which is a way of demonstrating the network of relationships people have, which is a nice concept.
Somebody unplugged me from the mains at 10:00 and I made my excuses and headed down the road straight into my bed.
Below... The sea. And looking down into a tidal pool made from white rock.
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