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| It was a Saturday morning. It was 7-01 a.m. as Beach Buoy and Stubborn Dog drove past the two Rain-dance Seagulls, that often resided on the large triangular traffic Island at the junction of Tees Road and Elizabeth Way. The rain dance had worked, verified by the rain spots that fell steadily on the van's large windscreen. They usually work as a team but today there was friction. One of the Seagulls seemed to have a bags of crips? The other was waiting for its chance to pounce. The two birds danced the dance of avoidance. The Car Park was empty. It was 7-05 a.m. Beach Buoy drove to the south west corner of the and parked up; his new favoured spot. Down on the beach, the 7 a.m. club were splintering in different directions with only one member continuing South. Beach Buoy had dug out an ancient, once bright, orange coat from the back of the van. Its colour had faded over the years, but it was warm and surprisingly still fitted well. Once fluorescent, now dourescent. The rain pitter-patted on the vintage coat. They headed south as the rain filled the upturned sea shells; seaside saucers. |
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| A Large Grey Whelk Shell matched the grey morning. Beach Buoy stuck to the water's edge. It was good to see the Sea again. It had been a while and a busy week too. |
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| They headed up to the dune stack. The Sea Serpent was showing two humps out in the Bay alongside its marker. |
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| They headed down to the now empty beach. |
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| They headed back as the rain changed from pitter-patter to rat-a-tat-tat. Beach Buoy put up the orange hood of the coat. His hands felt warm against his cold damp cheeks. |
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| Beach Buoy stopped constantly to pause and look out to sea with his hand dug deep inside his Jean's pockets. He watched a the breaking wave's curl moved south to north like a move by a troupe of Tiller Girls at a Palladium Show. The sky to the North looked threatening as if the clouds were rolling up their sleeves in readiness for a fight. For now the rain stopped. Beach Buoy wandered past the van and continued North. |
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| The Brightly coloured Beach Huts. |
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| He wandered down The Front, sting some of the Village's signage as he did so. The 9 Anchors; a small Pub. |
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| Beach Buoy drove the van home and washed it once more. |
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| Later in the day it was a Promenade Walk... |
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| ... which turned into a Beach Walk. |
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| Sea-coal dusted the Beach. The day was bright, the wind was cold. |
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| He headed back to the van. Made Coffee. Listened to the radio as he read a book in the Mobile Beach Hut that was made in Germany. BEACH BUOY. |
