salty seaside chips, wild poppies in pavement cracks; the stony beach with well-worn rocks, layers of sediment and pungent old seaweed; the sandy beach, hot underfoot, dotted with the deposits of small burrowing crabs; gulls that call and circle; whipped ice cream that melts too fast; unrelenting sun, hair stuck to the back of my neck; four brown patches of an around-the-sandle tan; pinkish shoulders and nose; new freckles; a friendly horse that bucked and snorted; crickets heard but not seen; cold cold beers; hot tea and coffee for 70p; the dizzying, stupefying urge to just jump off the pier; mini crashing waves, tiny rolling waves; the lights twinkling across the bay that look walking distance but you know are much, much further.
