1st September from the West Cliff Green

All is hurry and scurry. Men in hi-vis jackets are raking and hoeing and shovelling. Others are blowing leaves away from the paths. There is even a Council sweeping lorry and its attendant crew. Meanwhile the benches are beginning to fill up and men (always men) with big cameras are staking out places for their tripods. They all gaze towards the, as yet, empty sky above the bay. It is cloudy but the clouds seem high enough that there will be something to see. A big Chinook hurries along the beach so low it is out of sight beneath the watchers here on the cliff.

From 1st September 2021

A prickle of rain. A starchy breeze. A heavily creased sea with the Tide whipping the Surf so that's whiter than white. The beach is practically deserted except for Someone who stands fully clothed in the water apparently for the enjoyment of his friend who is taking many pictures. A wayfarer is asleep on one of the benches, hood pulled tight around his face. Members of the Waggy Tail Walking club sniff my ankles and decide I'm not worth biting.

From 1st September 2012

Officially Autumn doesn't begin until Michaelmas Day (29th September) but this will do. A misty morning with promise of hot sun later. Autumn is my favourite season. It is about new beginnings and new projects. I grew up on farms so Autumn is especially meaningful me with the gathering in of the harvest and putting the golden stubble to the plough. It is also about new homes and schools (Michaelmas was the traditional time for farmworkers to begin new jobs). In the theatre it was always the start of the new season. So today is the day to begin again.

31st August from the West Cliff Green

A sardonic little breeze and a blue sky brushed with high white cirrus clouds. The sunlight is sharp where it streams through the trees and the day is already warm. A big green swell out in the bay that tumbles onto the flat, beach empty apart from a couple of early swimmers and a lone dog walker. A fishing boat bobs out in the bay. Although the crows and pigeons are spick and span in their new coats of feathers, the magpies are still decidedly shabby looking. They still manage their lordly strut however. A wren sings piercingly from a bush, loud enough to make a passer-by jump. The holm oak branches are weighed down with a mass of tiny golf ball shaped acorns.

From August 31st 2021

When the breeze drops it is warm enough under the grey cloud cover. But there are bright blue patches at the edge of the sky and towards the West there are little pools of light on the bay. Children still squeal with delight when they see the sea for the first time from the clifftop. The paths are littered with the remains of pine cones, stripped bare by the squirrels like corn on the cob. In the soft afternoon air, flats have their windows open and I can hear the clink of china as tables are being laid for tea.

From August 31st 2015

The rain pattering on the window and running in the gutters forms and reforms little clumps of sound that sometimes resemble voices just out of earshot.

30th August from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

A brisk wind propelling a big swell onto the beach. Big, lumpy clouds bump this way and that leaving patches of blue and, when the do, the sun is hot and the day is muggy. For some reason the Council send the mower round but what grass there is has barely pushed more than a few green strands it appears to be somewhat of a wasted effort. Again there is plenty of room on the beach and with a spring tide a few wide pools are left on the flat sand while couples sit and wait for the moon to rise.

From 30th August 2021

A constant grey mantle of cloud with no sight of the sun at all today. Very cold this morning and hot and humid this afternoon and back to a real chill this evening. The beach was not full but enough families braving the sunless day to make it a little bit Bank Holiday-y. The sea more or less flat but with fidgety little waves at the surf's edge. Out in the bay the cargo boat Trinity swings at anchor its bright deck lights cutting through the evening gloom. This morning a squirrel and Jay fighting in the branches of a lime tree. The squirrel running up the branches and dropping down onto the back of the Jay. But the jay was persistent and kept on coming just flying up enough to shake the squirrel away before landing back. This was a no-holds barred tussle. I presume the squirrel had a late family it was protecting from the predator.

From 30th August 2020

The breeze is sharp and restless but the early sun splashes a careless incandescent straw colour over the dark green of the pines and gorse. Early bathers are already experimenting with the little waves at the shore edge. The juvenile gull I have seen for the last few days keeping close to its parent and peeping incessantly has been joined by four more. All are wandering aimlessly bewildered by what this big new world expects of them. Our litter picker does a grand job but he has not begun his round yet and the rays of the new sun glint and shimmer off the bottles and cans where they have collected by the bins. The disturbed soil where the path was widened last autumn has been colonised by all sorts of unexpected plants that I can’t name. But I am delighted to see a mullein and clumps of figwort.

29th August

A strangely low-key bank holiday. A strong breeze ruffling up a decent swell and making curling white top waves for the visitors to delight in. But with warnings of rip currents and the hazards of swimming too near the groynes where the waves can thump you and drag you past the barnacles making for nasty grazes. So the beach is busy but there is plenty of room. There are spaces in the car parks. Many families enjoy wandering or playing about on the Green. Despite the wind, it is warm and humid with a milky sky sometimes giving way to bigger clumps of clouds. The resident pigeons seem to have seen off the urban invaders. Many small birds are in evident including robins which are gearing up their singing voices again. As the bracken dies back there are better views of the Royal goat working their way along the cliff face. Children always stop and try out their goat voices. Reading the notes from previous years, perhaps August Bank Holiday never were what they used to be.

From 29th August 2021

Not the August Bank Holiday weekends of yore. The morning is cold although the sun is shining and it takes a long time for the beach to begin to fill. Warm enough for a swim this afternoon and there are plenty of people on the beach but as soon as a cloud drifts across there is a chilly breeze. This evening is cold.

From 29th August 2020

It may be Bank Holiday weekend but there is a tranquility about the beach. It is as though some of the tension has gone out of the air. The sea is lap lap lapping at the sand. The blue sky is peppered with white clouds. The occasional black clump threatening rain seems half hearted and doesn’t amount to anything more than a need to pull a cardi round your shoulders. It is the afternoon for sitting with a nice cup of tea and listening to the idle chatter of the man who seems to know a great deal about not a lot.

28th August

A quiet Bank Holiday Sunday morning. Morning shadows are long and clear. The choppy green waves are playing with the beach like a little dog worrying a ball. A burst of excited breakfast begging from the gulls echoes off the walls of the tall flats. Little green rosettes push up through the dusty patches where the grass was worn away in the drought. A row of benches stand waiting for the visitors who will come later.

From 28th August 2021

The cold North wind has returned (has it really ever gone away this year?) Banks of heavy mist lie on the bay and the hills. The sun makes a brief attempt to put in an appearance and casts long wan shadows on the path but it soon scuttles back behind the clouds. There might be some warmth in it later if the clouds burn away. I can hear a robin and a wren singing lustily from the same bush. The first time in weeks I've heard anything other than the the ne'er do well croaking and wailing of the jays, magpies crows and gulls. A pigeon coos.

From 28th August 2020

The air is clean and clear after the earlier downpour. The paths, thick with washes of pine needles, are already drying out. The watery sun emerging from the grey clouds is surprisingly warm. The sea has a mere shrug of a swell and the sand is flat and smooth. A juvenile gull in its distinctive brown mottled plumage keeps close to its parent maintaining an incessant plaintiff peeping. The body language of the older bird says “You’re on your own, mate. You’re old enough to go and find your own chips.” The grey sky veil has pulled back to reveal a bright blue afternoon sky with great meringuey piles of white cloud along the horizon.

27th August from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

If there is such a thing as a perfect August Bank Holiday weekend, this may be it. Blue sky, blue sea polished to a sheen, empty white sands. Visibility is clear to the horizon. One or two early fishing boats dot the bay. Visitors who have just arrived after an overnight drive lean on the cliff top rails and marvel at the perfection. Sea gulls wheel, the goats bleat, a gentle breeze stirs the imagination. Pigeons and crows and small birds complete the scene.

From 27th August 2020

The grey sea is formed of little jagged waves like a badly iced Christmas cake. Gulls hang on the updraft of the stiff, chill breeze. One or two hunch on the roofs of the beach huts feathers ruffling, trying to look unconcerned but their beady eyes are in constant motion scoping out the merest hint of a crust of breakfast toast. The heavy blanket of clouds looks soft and lumpy. Out in the bay the four cruise liners look even more forlorn in the pale light.

Later…

The roar of the wind is so loud on the clifftop you can barely hear the almost constant rumble of thunder above it. Trees and bushes are bent double before the gale. Leaf laden branches thrash and gyrate as if being forced to dance. A child shouts in delight, arms outstretched to the elements. But out on the bay. a bright band above the horizon shows that the storm will soon pass. And in a matter of minutes it has indeed gone leaving only the immense sheeting rain.

26th August

In the heat of the early afternoon, two guys are sparring on the West Cliff Green. They crouch and sway. They bob and weave, bright green gloves flashing in the sunshine. As they dance, they close and rain a few choice blows before dancing apart. Slap slap slap is the sound of the soft leather. They work hard and the enjoyment of is all in the movement. It is choreography of two people enjoying the day. The sky overhead is blue as is the sea. The long crescent of sand is white curving away to the dark tapestry of the hills opposite. An elderly couple sit on one of the benches. They prefer to watch the sea and the sand rather than the dancers. Theirs is another form of closeness, of amity. They remain still gazing out to the bay whilst, in the heat of the afternoon, the boxers dance on.

From August 26th 2021

The day is warm and bright but rags of grey cloud obscure the sun from time to time while the summer breeze makes the waves scintillate and flash with a thousand thousand tiny mirrors. The Dorset Belle purrs slowly along level with the beach. The passengers line the rail watching us watching them. A sudden raspy growl as an offshore takes off across the bay leaving a white foamy wake right out to the horizon.

From August 26th 2020

The sun is strong enough to cast sharp late afternoon shadows. Where there is shelter from the chilly breeze the carpet of pine needles throw up a rich, aromatic wave of warmth. The green blue sea wrinkles and stretches and makes a cavalier lacy collar on the flat sand. One or two bathers enjoy the waves and above the intense blue is shaded now and then by a high mares’ tails and mackerel sky. A pigeon feeds greedily on the thick grass seed heads and makes little effort to move aside for me. I remember pigeons feeding on spilt grain amid the corn stubble with crops so full that they made easy pickings for those who enjoyed pigeon pie. This pigeon is lucky I no longer enjoy such delicacies.

25th August from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

After a steady deluge overnight everything smells fresh and green. Leaves that were wilting and dusty a few days ago are glossy and dripping moisture onto the path. The birds are singin again. The bushes and branches seem to be suddenly full of robins, tits, blackbirds. One bold thrush rehearses his song from a low bush. The day is warm again but a mass of cloud assembles as evening approaches. The sun drops behind the tall pines and the beach is in shadow but there is still a bright blue silk scarf of clear sky beneath the cloud so that the unseen sun’s rays light the tall buildings and white cliffs with a lemon, then warm glow. Out on the steel planished bay a pleasure boat is duddenly lit up in shocking pink. It’s low chatter reaches across the still water to where the little waves swash onto the flat sand. Overhead great purple clouds are splashed and edged with mauve and brown and orange like a great expansive impressionist painting. Two young guys stand and marvel at the sight. Their dog seems entranced just as much as they are. Otherwise the evening is hushed. People sit on the benches and read. Late picnickers begin to pack up. In one or two spots the scent of a joint or two hangs heavy on the air. A pigeon suddenly claps its wings and begins its roller coaster flight home.

From 25th August 2021

The first really pleasant day of the summer. Warm but not overpowering or humid and without the wind which has been a constant up to now. The waves are big and bold and green and swimmers can do little more than bob in the surf and squeal with delight as they are tumbled over by the force of the water. Little boats lined with fisheren chug out in the bay. Gulls wheel and the heather is a rich purple in the chines.

From 25th August 2020

Some years the summer slips so gently into Autumn that you don’t notice the transition until you wake up one morning to find a heavy grey mast hanging over dew sparkled grass and you realise you’re half way to winter already. This year there’s been much more of a rough and tumble. Only a few days ago we were baking in record high temperatures. Then sudden colossal downpours and high winds make it difficult to tell whether this is early autumn gales or late summer squalls. Even today, the buffeting winds were accompanied, from time to time, by warm sun and blue skies before the scudding grey clouds sent another storm thrashing down. There are still a few late summer flowers but the clifftop is mostly populated by the stiff stalks of yarrow and wild carrot interspersed with the rich chocolate seed spikes of docks. Tall thistles are white and fluffy and those strange brown spears are the remains of evening primrose and teasels. Most of the blackberries, though, have yet to ripen although there are plenty of black fruit if you look hard. On the way home I pass a spaniel, transfixed by the scenes before him, his ears streaming in the wind like banners.

24th August

A grey and muggy morning gives way to a bright clear afternoon. The sun is hot and the blue sky is marked with a jumble of small white clouds. But later an extraordinary long plume of grey cloud forms under that. It is along feather boa stretching from East to West right across the bay. At first it appears to be the smoke from a fire on the Isle of Wight drifting this way. But is is not. It is a peculiar weather feature called a roll cloud. “A roll cloud (Cloud Atlas name volutus) is a low, horizontal, tube-shaped, and relatively rare type of arcus cloud. . Roll clouds usually appear to be "rolling" about a horizontal axis. They are a solitary wave called a soliton, which is a wave that has a single crest and moves without changing speed or shape. One of the most famous frequent occurrences is the Morning Glory cloud in Queensland, Australia, which can occur up to four out of ten days in October. Coastal roll clouds have been seen in many places, including California, the English Channel, Shetland Islands, the North Sea coast, coastal regions of Australia, and Nome, Alaska.” Within an hour a second roll appears and thenthey disappear leaving the blue evening sky dotted with little white clouds.

A pigeon is dead on the path, Despite the blue bottles crawling about it it does not seem to have been eaten as it would be if caught by a sparrowhawk. maybe a peaceful, natural death. The Goat man is nailing QR codes to the posts by the goat enclosure so visitors may click on the East Cliff Goats Facebook site. Apparently these Kashmir Goats which were moved down from Lladudno earlier this year were originally the descendents of a pair of goats given to Queen Victoria by the Shah of Persia. They do have a distinctly regal air with their great curly horns. Now they are part of a ten year plan to improve the stability of the cliffs by knocking back the invasive holm oaks and gorse and opening up the understorey to a more diverse range of plants. All for no cost to the Council Tax Payer.

From 24th August 2021

Blue sky dotted with puffs of white cloud. A warm sun glittering madly on the big green waves where children bounce and squeal in delight. But there is more than a breath of autumn. The breeze is still chill and a their is a misty veil on the horizon. Because of the late spring and wet summer everything is still lush green as yet but the shiny and poisonous red berries of black bryony and the black berries of nighshade are draping over the bushes.

Later

In the distance the sea rises up grey green green against a grey blue sky. This one is higher than the rest. As it reaches up, it fragments into a myriad splinters of black and silver yet still it steeples upwards. Tiny flecks of white foam filigree the edge of the wave as it contain its own onwards rush but begins to curl towards us in a great glassy green curve . And then the weight of the water crushes down in a mad whirl of white and all sound is gone. For a brief time this is silence, deeper than the grave and then we burst upwards into the light and the rush and chaos of sound again. And the sunshine and the sky and the world beyond is all good.

From 24th August 2012

A tumbling grey sea out there. Ragged whitecaps charging across the bay. Clumps of pinkish foam dancing up the road outside my window.

23rd August

The noon day light slants crisply through the tree branches. it is not yet Autumn but there is something in the air that speaks of change. High up, pair of jays rattle and squawk. There is more than a hint of green where the open spaces are beginning to cover themselves in grass again. But by late afternoon, the grey curtains swathe the sky and a bright drizzle is blown in by a little wind. Beach goers are bobbing in the waves. It is not cold and still rather humid and there is no shadow from the setting sun..

From 23rd August 2021

August continues with sullen grey skies and stiff breezes except for tiny moments when the sun peeps through. Over there, though a brilliant spear of golden light illuminates the sea just off the Needles. The sun is up there somewhere. A crow sits on a fence post by the path in full scraggy moult. But he challenges everyone that passes to a fight just in case we don't realise who is boss around here.

From 23rd August 2015

Big rain. Big thunder.On the way to the beach man with pushchair and small children shelter in the doorway opposite. They laugh and jog back up the road the rain streaming from their hair like silver jewels.

22nd August

From dawn the day is damp. The pine needles deaden sound. The air is filled with their dank aroma. The green sea has little white caps on the waves. The beach is flat and empty save for a lone dog walker and a few hardy swimmers. The flags stream out from the flagpoles. The Green is mostly empty. A large white butterfly flits along the bramble stems. A single wagtail. Pigeons. odd gulls. Everything seems to be happening somewhere else. Here and there, though, a single flower responds to the moisture after the drought and opens in a determined effort to show that summer is still here. As dusk draws on a dreary drizzle drifts in across the misty bay.

From August 22nd 2021

More of the same choppy changey, roller-coastery, switch-backy, decidedly undecided summer. Rain in the night, followed by a pleasant autumn couple of hours first thing, then grey skies but humid and warm. Windy, calm, blue skies this afternoon. I have run out of epithets and adjectives. All I can say is that, looking back, last year was just as bad.

21st August

The white, corded sheet of mackerel sky mirrors almost exactly the corduroy ridge and furrow of the green waves across the bay. The wind is still brisk and the sun is still warm but there is a calmness about the day. Nine of the visiting pigeons are pecking furiously at the grass to see if they can find some goodness there. The resident pigeons have retired to the trees where they coo soothingly. Juvenile gulls are gliding and swooping as expertly as a teenager on a skateboard but once they see an adult on the ground they circle down rapidly and, peeping furiously with neck stretched out and shoulders hunched, they implore to be fed. The adult ignores them and walks stiffly away but the juvenile is certain they will die of hunger soon and uses every threat and cajolery they can muster. The adult flies away. The youth gives up all pretence and flies almost gracefully away.

From 21st August 2021

A drizzly morning gave way to blue sky and sunshine ling enough to swim in the choppy wave. But then spears of dark cloud driven by a sharp breeze lanced across the sky and very soon it was raining again. As I walk the rain patters on the leaves overhead. Car tyres swish on the main road. A pigeon coos.

20th August

The playful breeze bowls the elderly gentlemen’s hats along the path. The elderly gentlemen hobble after them. The wind hums in the pine branches and rattles the still green leaves of the deciduous trees. The gulls circle and then zoom stiff winged low over the cliff. Pigeons are also enjoying the breeze, rising and falling on the air in roller coaster fun. The crows are beginning to look sleek again in their new outfits.The sun is strong and it is warm despite the breeze. Sunbathers are lying out enjoying the freedom of a Saturday afternoon and listening to the football on headphones. Towards the sun, the bay glints like crumpled silver foil while to the East the colour is deep blue green and mysterious. Purple cloud shadows slide across the waters. The Dorset Belle streams into the afternoon light leaving a straight white wake.

From August 20th 2021

A heavy, oppressive day despite the sharp breeze. The sun is lurking behind a thick grey blanket only peering out with one eye from time to time before snuggling back under the bedclothes. There are plenty of juvenile robins but I saw an adult just now, ragged and well into its moult but with a beakful of worms and grubs indicating it was having a go at raising yet another family. Take a rest, Soldier.

From August 20th 2018

When you live in a seaside town you acquire something of an ambivalent attitude to Gulls. Every child knows how to make the iconic elongated m shaped gull mark in the blue of the sky that says “sea-side”. The mournful distant cries add to the sound of lapping wavelets to make the background of any radio play set in a small fishing harbour. Yes, sea gulls are a necessity at the sea-side. Yet, we get enraged by the way they tear apart rubbish bin bags distributing unbelievable quantities of filth up and down the street; and by the way they approach unwary picnic-ers with a malevolent eye that precedes a dash for the cheese sandwich you are just about to pop in your mouth. As a student of (human) language, I find gulls fascinating. They have an enormous vocabulary of sounds and calls that seem to form a rich language. Not only the long, drawn out wails but the short chattering, a harsh guttural cooing and a sort of bark. What’s more, these calls are modulated up and down the scale. I hesitate to say they’re musical – anything but. Then there is the syntax and the way the calls are used in lengthy conversations. Squabbles, repetitions of the same sound over and over again: “It’s mine. “No it’s not” “Yes it is” “No it’s not” “ ’Tis” “ ‘Tisn’t” “ ‘Tis” “ ‘Tisn’t” and so on. Sometimes a continuous plaintive sob from an abandoned juvenile. Sometimes a massive gossiping session when a crowd assembles waiting for the tide to turn. The only thing gulls can’t do is quiet. I suppose fortissimo is a necessity when trying to keep in touch when out in the Atlantic gales of winter but when they are standing screaming on my window ledge at five in the morning I find my self resorting to a rather more basic human form of language.

From August 20th 2016

This is the weather the sailboarders like And so do I The wind comes slicing across the bay Making the dare-devils fly. The waves are pummelling the sands Under a ragged sky. This is the weather the kite surfers like And so do I.

From August 20th 2015

It's my contention that it wouldn't be raining if those heliocopters didn't keep stirring up the clouds.

19th August

Everything astir after a long lay off. The leaves have plimmed up again and the bushes are nodding and chatting to each other enthusiastically. There is singing in the pine tops. The sea is energetic with the little waves hurrying excitedly into the shore. Even the grey clouds are fat and jolly and the day is warm and pleasant. A pair of jays squabble and chase each other through the trees. People nod and smile as they pass. And, even though we have only had three lots of rain in the last day or so, there is the faintest breath of green across the open spaces that has been white for so long. Pigeons coo.

From 19th August 2021

Not cold but grey and drizzly all day with a bustling, lively breeze this afternoon. The sea is corrugated and nudges the sand continuously. It's that time of year when there are both flowers and seeds on the same plants. Bright yellow ragwort has little puffs of white seed heads whilst the purple thistles have wads of greyish down. Nightshade already has green berries among its purple flowers. Ripe blackberries have been stripped by the birds and the human collectors but there are masses of red ones to ripen later.

18th August

Although there have only been a couple of downpours in the last twenty-four hours, everything feels different. The air is fresher and the scent of petrichor is sweet and strong. Many of the bushes and trees that were beginning to droop have revived a little and a hazel bush with entirely burnt leaves is pushing out little green buds as if trying to make up for lost time.. A party of eleven or twelve visiting pigeons have flown in from the town and are busy in their corner of the Green. The residents are keeping well out of the way. The grey clouds seem to be those jolly, bumbling sort like a grey bearded old uncle, always playing games at inappropriate moments. But sometimes, accidentally on purpose, letting the sun shine through warmly. The green sea is as choppy as a cheese grater under a playful breeze. A tortoiseshell butterfly is buffeted along the clifftop. And a man and his son are flying a big red yellow and blue kite which corkscrews and slews across the sky. As he he runs to pick it up, he says “It’s the day for it.” and launches it again skywards. The year is moving towards another change of season.

From 18th August 2021

The horizon is sharply delineated by a band of dark, slate grey sea. In front of that is a band of polished silver that fades into the soft pewter colour of the rest of the bay. And as below, so above. A dark scrawl of purple cloud at the horizon with bright white cloud before that while the rest of the sky is the usual lumpy grey. But where the sun pierces through from time to time, puddles of gold chase across the bay. The air is warm but then a little breeze rattles the leaves and the air is filled with a fine drizzle.

From August 18th 2011

A forlorn helicopter has just shrugged its way past through the low clouds and driving rain.

17th August

No sign of the promised rain overnight and the grey clouds and early haze were jostling aside by mid day. And then the sun came out and the day returned to warmth. The sea was brightened with a little choppiness. But from the East a huge dark rolling mass of cloud erupted and devoured the firmament. Within minutes a vast deluge erupted and continued for some time but with one or two thunder grumbles. For the first time in two months there was enough rain to make puddles, stained tea dark from the mass of pine needles that littered the path and mirroring the silver sky. Large tracts of the Green where the grass had been worn away to white dust suddenly became blackened by the deluge as though fire scorched. And in the calm of the evening a pair of wagtails scampered and bobbed on the wet tarmac.

From August 17th 2021

You know the best time for photography is close to dawn and dusk when the shadows are clear and deep and definition is sharp. This evening the sky is grey and everything seems flat and uninteresting. There was drizzle this morning with an interval of warm sun this afternoon. Although everything is still green there is a tired feeling to it. The colour scheme seems to be predominantly yellow and purple. Ragworts and charlock and mallow and thistles. But there in the long grass a garden escape of sweet peas has filled up a spare corner with a mass of bright pink flowers twining among the stems. The sea is calm and still while the Dorset Belle makes her way homeward after a day of trips round the bay.

16th August

No real rain overnight as the forecasters promised. A fine misty drizzle in the air is enough for the trees to cast dry shadows on the paths. Magpies, pigeons and gulls are patrolling the flat areas trying to find the odd patch where some moisture might have accumulated. The air feels fresh under a uniform grey sky and the temperature is definitely lower than it has been. There is an etiquette among the early morning strollers and dog-walkers. It is important to make the right judgement to use a friendly “Hi” or a cheery “Good morning” or even a chummy “Hello”. The next engagement is often a swift look at the sky and “We need it” but we don’t achieve that level of intimacy today. One or two early swimmers are enjoying the still waters and the empty beach. Out on the bay, the mist makes it difficult to see where the polished steel water ends and the sky begins. Two fishing boats crossing the scene look as though they might be floating in mid-air.

From 16th August 2021

The afternoon heat comes up off the path and off the grass in waves but as soon as a grey slab of cloud slides across the sun a mean little wind springs up and chills the air in seconds. By the evening, the sky has cleared to a clear pale blue edged with a delicate pink where the sun has disappeared. The sea is a dimpled silver sheet and the moon like a frosted lemon slice casts a gold silver pathway across the bay.

From 16th August 2009

There is a pause. In that time between the last shoutings of late-night party goers making their unsteady ways home and the first blearyeyed chamber maids and kitchen helpers padding along the echoing pavements. The air is fresh but still August warm. The roads are empty save for a brief flurry of newspaper delivery vans. The real owners of the tarmac are the magpies and, oddly, a flock of thirty or forty jackdaws

15th August

The little waves are driven into the shore by a fresh, cool breeze. They slop slap hiss against the sand. The sky has been a uniform grey for most of the day but there are little tears in it now. It is not cold but in contrast to the temperatures of the last weeks it feels chilly. Out in the bay, a kite surfer twists and turns and leaps above the corrugated swell. He bends the free will of the bright scarlet kite to his desire but he is always just on the brink of losing control. Meanwhile on the green the keep fit boot camp are performing rigorous PE exercises at the behest of a hi-vis jacketed leader. There are about twenty of them tonight and they form a regimented line whilst, in the distance the kite surfer leaps from wave crest to wave crest.

From 15th August 2021

Another one of those odd, mixed, uncertain days that has been typical of this summer. Occasionally the sun bursts through with a flurry of warmth but it is grey again this evening. A hazy mist hangs over the bay and chilly hush falls over the cliff top.

From 15th August 2011

Sun's out. Sea's blue. On the beach in half an hour or questions will be asked.

From 15th August 2009

Dark at 5 am now. The year is changing. Moving towards the exciting part of the year - new starts, new projects, new ideas.

14th August

A slight mist over the bay in the morning remains as a haze on the horizon all day The sky is covered in high, thin, grey clouds which alleviate the heat a little. Later, there is a fresh breeze. The hedgerows were heavy with blackberries after the kindly spring and many of the early juicy fruit were enjoyed by walkers on the West Cliff but since then the crop has shrivelled and the brambles are heavy with the tiny nut like remains. A few fronds of new, green bracken are pushing through the big stands which are now browning rapidly. Trees are losing their leaves; not because they are going yellow and orange but the green leaves are wilting and shrivelling. A disturbing sight. The sun slips down in a bright orange ball through a horizon smudged with pink and yellow. Out in the bay, the lights of the Barfleur twinkle brightly as she slides towards the harbour mouth. A magpie balances on the topmost twig of a pine and laughs gleefully.

From 14th August 2021

It's high summer but still that breeze along the beach. The blue sky is lined with sheets of mackerel clouds and grey smudges as the sun sinks. The foliage is beginning to flag and the bracken is browning and rosebay willow herb takes charge in the cleared spaces.

From 14th August 2014

Two gulls twist and turn through the sudden downpour white paper fragments against a charcoal sky.

13th August

The last rays of the sun brush the very tops of the dark trees with flame. The blue sky is covered with threads and broken webs and tattered white veils of thin, high cloud. Gulls glide across from West to East, circle indecisively and then glide back. Their calls are tired and melancholy. As the shadows creep across the sand beach goers are making their way back up the Chine. At the same time the evening revellers are making their way down. There is buzz and stir in the breathless air. The heatwave is not relenting but the air does seem a little fresher tonight.

From 13th August 2021

The blue sky is smudged with little white clouds. The strong breeze ridges and ruffles the sea. A small RIB butting through the blue-green waves leaving a long white wake. Children's laughter carries up from the beach below. A group of local residents have arranged a circle of collapsible camping chairs and are chatting animatedly. The pools of shade are deep and dark.

From 13th August 2011

The watery morning sun briefly picks up the bright red spinnaker of a yacht far out on the steely grey water. The scene is framed by the black branches of the twisted pine.