Beach Buoy had been awake for ages.
It was 6-40 am when he headed downstairs.
Kettle on, bread in toaster.
Once the kettle had boiled he placed hot water in his thermal cup, to heat it up ready for the real deal later.
He made a small cup of coffee.
He buttered his toast.
He ate toast and sipped coffee as he paced about like a caged Tiger.
These dark mornings are just as much a pain as those dark early nights.
He happened to pass the long narrow window that faced in the direction of the beach.
It was still over an hour to sunrise, but the whole sky to the east seemed to glow orange.
After days of grey stacked on grey mornings, it looked glorious.
It felt like he hadn't seen a bright morning sky for weeks.
Days this time of year are a bit of an enigma to Beach Buoy
Some days seem to drag on for a week, while others are gone in the blink of an eye.
Blink and you'll miss the daylight.
He reboiled the kettle and made a coffee in his thermal cup to take to the beach.
Beach Buoy was keen to reach the beach.
There would be no messing this morning Mr Stubborn Dog.
As it happened Stubborn Dog must like sunrises too, thank goodness.
They reached the car park at around 7-25 am.
They headed for the water's edge.
Sand of a thousand footprints became smooth flat virgin sand, smoothed by the tide that had been and gone and seemed to be as far out as a tide could be?
Gulls stood by the water's edge, possibly wanting a touch more light before take off?
While the South glowed, the North still seemed to be fixed in night time mode.
Artificial lights twinkled like it was a different time zone where tomorrow would never come.
A socially distant 7 am club were already heading back to yesterday via the strand line.
The Orange glow lit up the streams of water that laid in the undulations of the beach.
It was if the Steel Works had burst into action, leaving a stream of molten steel to run down the river, across the beach, before solidifying as cold silver steel in front of Beach Buoy and Stubborn Dog.
A Seaton Carew wreck waves an arm of distress.
This one is only visible at the lowest of tides.
It isn't THE Seaton Carew wreck which lies to the North, opposite the water treatment car park.
They headed for the stack.
The beach was awash with suitable stacking stones.
They were almost spoilt for choice.
Beach Buoy chose five for the stack this morning.
It was 8 am; twenty minutes to the sunrise.
They headed for North Gare Pier and the River Tees beyond.
Sometimes you may hear something once that stays in your head forever.
Beach Buoy heard years ago on a chat show, most probably Parkinson, that David Niven's autobiography was called
The Moon's a Balloon.
Today they found a Balloon that looked like the Moon in a dune.
It was beach cleaned, burst and later binned.
They reached the river just before sunrise.
Sadly, sunrise today meant the sky turned grey and the wind picked up, the sun choosing to slip behind the clouds for the day.
They had the best part of the day once more.
The fizzling blue touch paper ended up being brighter than the firework itself.
They headed back at 8-21 am.
Dune driftwood that had glowed orange minutes earlier was cold and grey.
They passed a beachcombing Crow that was moving for nobody.
As they left the beach via the access ramp, a regular jogger passed them heading to the beach ; the man more on the run than on a run.
Good luck mate.
They reached the van at around 9-15 am.
Beach Buoy sat on the back seat.
He had a coffee and a cake.
He checked through his Battered Beach Book.
It is just about full now.
Luckily he has three identical ones, ready to take up the beach baton.
BEACH BUOY.
