Chaos and Calm at the Water's Edge

Field Notes

Is there anything more invigorating than spending a windswept autumn afternoon by the sea? Last weekend we went to Brighton to celebrate a two-year-old’s birthday, and somewhere between the maracas and fondant icing, I managed to slip outside for a few minutes to stand on the shingle at the water’s edge. The waves were propelled by a wind so strong I was almost blown down, my favourite coat (fondly known as my wearable duvet) pulling me backwards like a ship’s sail. Gulls, strung up like puppets, dangled through the air, and the silhouette of Brighton pier glowed in the early setting sun. At my feet, dried fronds of bladderwrack lay tangled in shards of mussel shell, natural flotsam from the deep.

This week I’ve been feeling a bit overwhelmed with lots of small-to-medium tasks I need to get done, and it felt good to clear out my brain with a blast of salty air. It’s a grey, rainy day here in Hampshire (my favourite kind), so I’m about to pop the kettle on with the hope of getting a few things ticked off, tidying the house, and listening in to the current, mesmerising chaos of British politics. You know you’re in safe hands when your politicians use a vote on fracking as a power play. Way to go, guys.