Companionship

Each time we go up north our little expeditions down to the beach are a must. A ritual. Only storms would stop us.


Armed with a carrier bag for stones and other bits and pieces we set off on the sort of grey day that only the North Sea knows how to do so well.

A sort of milky metallic light that melded the sea and sky into one to produce a speckling of light rain.





The sea growled and grumbled beneath the cliffs. It was restless and with anything visual so neutralised it did seem loud.


We had the place to ourselves.

Only the sea kept us company.

I don't even recall any gulls.












Great clumps of seaweed advanced up the beach.

The rain retreated and allowed the sky and sea to separate just a little, although the distant horizon stayed shrouded.











Nooks and crannies hid imagined promises or threats behind us.

It would make a good set for something like Dr Who.

I imagine a Cyberman walking around that corner.

Or advancing through that archway in the distance.





An archway.


There are a few and some caves too.











Still empty.

I think in all the time we were there we saw two people; and they were in the distance.



It looks lonely doesn't it. It wasn't at all. We had each other.







Granddaughter even managed to find a stone that made an ideal replacement for the pestle we broke. So now we can use our mortar.

A perfect reminder to the day.

When I think of those crowded beaches down in Cornwall or in places like Majorca with their rows of sunbeds I did think of the contrast.

I was glad that I was on that quiet grey beach with its caves, its seaweed and only the sound of the impatient sea. And with the knowledge that no-one else really wanted to be there it was all ours for a short time.