I do miss my early morning walks at the weekends (its my domestic chore time). I don’t miss the physical walking, my hips just plain hurt, but I do miss that first hit of fresh air, and of being out, alone and open to the elements. There is a glorious cloud beginning to build up outside my studio window. The top of it is pure, snowy white, puffy and soft but anvil shaped ones are growing beneath it, while grey insubstantial lines of smogginess sail by like floating seals. I’ve just remembered that last Saturday we passed a couple on the Prom who claimed to have just spotted a seal. See there it goes, they kept saying. Do we have seals here? They were delighted. Clearly from Essex, he muttered to me as we left them.
