It does, it stinks, especially in the warm June air. But I don’t mind. It is the smell of industry, of marine life, of corporeal reality. I think it comes mainly from the lobster and crab pots (are there pots for crabs?) stacked high along the harbour wall. And all the ropes and tackle that are hauled back and forth onto boats, into the water and out again. The smell is from their drying out, made stiff with the residue of sea salt. It isn’t a pretty harbour, it is a working one. The Ridiculously Rich café with its blue paint and fairy lights makes an attempt to make it so, but it doesn’t succeed. It is frippery. I think they work hard the fishermen. And there is order in the thrown about chaos down there. I love to walk through it. My nostrils wrinkle at the smell but my soul delights in it.
