The wind blew, daylight was extinguished by weighted clouds, rain slashed across the windscreen, muddy runoff smothered many points in the road. In short, the pathetic fallacy was doing its damnedest.
I paused for a moment as conditions eased:
I seem to have put up a lot of wave photographs lately so here are a few more, with permission from the nearestanddearest with the good camera.
The waves were less extreme than Wednesday’s, but they came from the southwest while the wind was blowing from the northeast, which gave the white horses some very elegant manes. Click a photo for the larger images.
The storm came in overnight, so I headed for high tide in a bright aftermath.
The rollers were busy rearranging the shoreline
and nobody was fool enough to mess with the prom.
The waves were breaking on the sea wall (which in these photos is under all that white stuff).
I walked round and perched on a small concrete platform, which is a couple of feet higher than the lifeboat yard behind the second wall, and gives a good view of the action. This was fortunate, as suddenly the bay seemed to swell, and then reared up the wave of the morning. It ignored the storm beach, overtopped the sea wall, hurdled the promenade, burst violently over the second wall, and poured in cataracts over the cobbled yard where I had just been standing.
Racing to catch some sunshine when the rain moved over, I ended up in the cliff’s shade, to watch the surfers and paddle-boarders without being squinty.
It was a waiting game for everyone
and meantime a few people caught reasonable rides.
When the big ones did come, it was too interesting to be bothered with photos. Lacking in drama compared with watching the shark bait off Manly after a whopping storm, but then, anything is (I remember the heart-in-mouth sensation even now). The waves crashed prettily though, and one surfer was spat, flailing, vertically into the air, and came down looking surprised.
My turn as a Fluffers-bed is nearly over.
The trouble with choosing an essay title which includes a metaphor is that it generates a sort of Tristram Shandy of essays. Instead of Sterne’s digressions On Noses and such Shandean topics, I could have written On Beginnings that are Endings, On Endings that are Beginnings, On Association, On Uncanonical Canons, On Questions, On Mosaics Ancient and Modern, and, of course, On Metaphor.
I ruthlessly removed most of these essays from the assignment finally submitted, compromising somewhat with the expectations of the tutor (which I may or may not have guessed correctly), though I worked out some of the phantom digressions whilst daydreaming in the shower. Vestiges remain in the multiple drafts on file, and in the back of my mind. They will also show up later in my water bill.
Today’s was almost monochrome. Somewhere far, far away the sun might have been shining a little.
Back home: oppressed by a sense of urgency, my progress became slower and slower and more and more reluctant.