Bank Holiday Monday and I
sit with my coffee in an East Coast town. An old boy pauses to speed smoke, sending out wafts of grey smog as he stares intently at the Vape shop opposite. A
waitress in a fresh apron hurry’s by. The air is warming up, its going to be a
sweaty one. My coffee has gone time to finish the dog walk.
In the cliff top gardens there
is a collection of fantastic beasts masquerading as windmills. Beyond them The
Wash England's wildest place it's alive with fantastic beasts you just need to
look.
The morning expands and we head for the Kayak man's stall on the prom to rent a couple of boats for a paddle.
Summers last Hurrah on
The Wash, a flat Sea merging into a clear pastel blue sky. In
front of us a new pink outcrop pokes out into the sea as hordes of beach goers
edge into the cool waters. My boys and I paddle on into summers end.
My small east coast town faces west into the sunset, a chilled end of Bank Holiday crowds gather to watch the sun slide into the waters
of The Wash with barely a ripple as a late water skier rips
through the sea and Oystercatchers pipe in the twilight. Nature soothes the
throng.
Back in my street neighbours discuss the day, its been busy, all along
the coast car parks have been full and everywhere cars have been abandoned
blocking roads as day trippers like Eels heading for the Sargasso sea show an
unstoppable desire to migrate to the soothing waters of the North Sea.
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