As an antidote to a long morning spent in the supermarket, I decided a trip to the seaside was needed.
An icy east wind streaked along the pebbly beach and darted between the pier props where pigeons huddled or tumbled out in the direction of the waves, wings beating frantically for the shore. The promenade was quiet, few pedestrians and peddling cyclists trying hard to ignore the biting wind and focus on signs of spring. Daffodils shivered, faces turned out to sea seeking the weak sun. Even the boats hauled up like beached seals, their hulls resting bulkily on the deep pebble drifts, seemed to take a deep breath and brace themselves solidly against the wind. Behind them, the sea sparkled.