I woke to the sound of heavy rain. He’d warned me of it. I lay in bed planning what to wear and whether to take an umbrella, which is always a pain to manage with a stick. It had eased when I eventually got out, though as always I’d gone prepared with two layers of waterproofs. The air smelt good though more like autumn than summer. Those poor loves in Southern Europe with extreme heatwaves and wildfires. It feels like we’re in a different universe. I walked the length of North Road surrounded by the cacophany of seagulls. That interminable din of young gulls with their keening, heart-renching cries for food and companionship and the adult birds screeching and cawing over nests, territory and scraps of food they’ve scavenged from bins and plastic bags left by students returning home. The noise is deafening at times and yet at times I stop hearing it so lost am to the narratives and chatter in my head. Be here now, Ellen. In this moment, always.
