Shingle Street

I love this place. A thick beach of ochre yellow and spotty brown pebbles; cold grey North Sea views. Usually wildly desolate, today, dotted with sunbathers. Dashing in and out of the surf, it was still cold enough in the water to be refreshingly British, and wholesome in a windburning kind of way.

The stones were warm and smooth, and the sound of the waves as they sucked at the shingles was the otherwordly noise of a hundred shipwrecks.