Seaside

The sun has been shining again here in the grim north, so I packed my bucket and spade and trotted off to the coast. The English seaside is the domain of the elderly: polyester slacks abound, the food is old-fashioned and the pace of life is glacial. Clouds hung motionless over the ocean like spacecraft watching and waiting. A solitary crab claw lay marooned on the shingle, its owner somewhere out there, searching for the lost limb. A milky jellyfish bobbed, ghostly and diaphanous in the waves, and a pale creature sat on the sand slowly licking stem ginger ice cream and listening to the soft whir of mobility scooters.