As the sun shone, the air was bitter and the tide ebbed away from Folkestone harbour I could taste the sea. That marvellous ozoney smell that Rick Stein talks about in his early TV programmes took me back to all those years living here. Is there a greater description of that captivating world than Britten's extraordinary evocation of the sea in Peter Grimes? I have been without opera for a few days now. TV too. And I'm loving the sea.
That glorious sight of a small harbour with the fishing boats going ever lower into the mud and the seagulls scavenging reminds me of what I miss in Kent. I have said before about coming back. Not now but maybe one day. I was in Folkestone visiting my friend Marie. Her daughter stroke son was there, stroke as Tom now considers himself transgender having been born Tegan. The young are so much more accepting of difference and change than we are. We had a lovely lunch in The Ship right on the quayside, simple goujons of lemon sole and an ale, about as fresh as fish gets.
My tarry in these parts is coming to an end. With luck I will spend the evening with my old friend Anders. He's a bit of will o' the wisp character, dark and brooding and hard to pin down but my friend nevertheless. And after I awake tomorrow, likely very late I will brave the roads and return home.
Has your Christmas gone smoothly? Rarely does anyone respond on here to my inane ramblings but I hope you are all enjoying this annual break from the mayhem of work. Take care out there.
I Heard a Voice
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