A first trip of the year (5)

a pebble throw from..

I wake early and the day unfolds as a day of sounds.

First the call of the seagull.

One at first but later as I stand on the beach watching the fishing boat come in it is joined by the call of others.

But before that there is the gluey squelch of the mud pulling on the shoes Mike lends me for the walk up over the East Cliff through the fog.

We can see nothing, but we can hear the sea.

Gull cry, mud squelch, crash of sea waves.

Then there is the crunch of the shingle; for the beach here is stone.

We do not pick any up and throw them into the sea, which is odd, but we stoop to touch the brine.

Then we watch the cable tighten on the shingle’s surface as it strains against the weight of the boat as it drags it shoreward.

They will unload the catch later so we go instead to the fish sheds that are already open even though most of the town is asleep.

We buy kippers, and smoked haddock for my aunt who i will see later, and then we buy bread. A wholewheat loaf for one pound ninety five, sliced on the spot as a curtsey service if you wish.

Mike wished.