18th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The low rays of the early sun pick out the tops of the flats beyond the pine tops in pink and yellow. The contrast wth the dark green of the pines is startling and magical drawing the watcher into strange, mysterious nooks and crannies in reality. The air is sharp and keen and there is little breeze. The sea hushes and smoothes gently on the sand. The grass is crisp and white with the frost. Pigeons and magpies hop from fence rail to bush and back again. The sky is nearly clear blue except for some whisps of grey cloud and single white scratch of a contrail.
From 18th January 2022
The evening air is damp and piercing. The hazy moon peers through pale poragey clouds. The waves grumble away quietly to themselves. The barely wrinkled surface of the bay reflects the coloured lights from the pier in a sad, impressionistic way. A dark track suited figures jogs out of the darkness into the pools of light cast by the street lights and then disappears into the night again. The West Cliff is empty. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #january
From 18th January 2019
Strictly come January. The street lamps throw dramatic pools of light on the dance floor. The sleety drizzle speckles the grass with countless glittering sequins all hand sewn by her mother. The crowd roars with the boom of the sea and whoops with the wind through the trees. She kicks up her heels to show her froth of lacy petticoats as she skips along the beach to the music of the tempest.
From 18th January 2016
A murky muddy morning. A roaring sea and icy driven rain. No sign of life apart from a forlorn dog walker standing hunched on the path and whistling plaintively at a clump of bushes where doggy was clearly prepared to wait whilst its master continued his or her stupidly conceived walk.
From 18th January 2014
An angry sea and spiteful rain. A vicious wind and the grey afternoon draws in to darkness.
