The Beach (Part 2)

To Saltburn, where some go to throw their ball in the sea for their dog to fetch it, some to throw their dog in the sea for their kids to fetch it and some to throw themselves in the sea for the surfer dude lifeguard guy to fetch them, for a multi-tasking Saturday of walking and eating ice cream both at the same time. I think warm autumn days like today, when a few of them occur in short succession, become what is known as an indian summer but given that the guitar playing lift operator at the top of the cliff was practicing I believe in Father Christmas in his little victorian kiosk whatever the weather may be doing to encourage folks to think back a month or two it is clear which direction some of us are thinking now…

Evening (Part 3)

Upon speculating whether a move to the southern hemisphere for six months would be one way of preserving the long days now fast becoming a wistful memory a bit of research revealed a slightly restricted choice of holiday home locations at fifty four south, the likely seasonal neighbours being some gauchos on the Tierra Del Fuego or the penguins of South Georgia. Although the spanish I picked up from Gustavo in Breaking Bad might be enough to ensure I didn’t spend too much time trying to entrar through the salida door the prospects for an english stranger affecting a questionable chilean accent in Argentina might make a diet of raw sardines at the arse end of the Falklands the price that has to be paid for the dream of late night sun so for this year at least it’s looking like I’m stuck in the dark with the rest of the northern half of humanity like Huis Clos with the lights turned out. It’s not over yet though. Although they may be selling out fast with no resupply due till spring there are a few evening glimpses of daylight left on the shelf so I will drink slowly and deeply, savouring every drop. Don’t need to go far, don’t need to go fast, just need to go out, to see the day through, to say don’t be away too long.

The Stang

There was a slightly southern theme to my August bike riding with trips to London and the South Coast without terribly much in between so it’s good to be back on my own turf. The air maybe cooler than I remember and the hills have definitely got steeper since I left them but equally the fells have got lovelier from being away from them and the downhills more exhilarating. It’s like falling in love all over again, if love made your legs hurt…