When Beach Buoy woke it was still dark.
He had a think as to what time it may be.
He had gone to bed late, around 12-45 am.
Maybe 4-20?, 4-40?
He plumped for 4-55 am before reaching for his phone to confirm.
It was 4-56 am.
He laid back and listened for wind or rain outside.......
It was the sound of a distant fog horn that caught his attention.
He went downstairs and made a coffee.
He paced around like an expectant Father waiting for daylight to come.
Or at least a hint of it before he headed out.
He went and sharpened his 5 B STAEDLER Pencil.
He has started taking a pencil for his beach notes now.
If it rains a pen struggles on the damp pages as he scribbles hints of notes as a reminder for when he and Stubborn Dog do their blog.
He made a warm drink to keep in the van.
Time to go.
He opened the front door and in an instant he was made aware that the fog was a cold fog.
He placed the cup in one of the van's cup holders and returned to the house to collect Stubborn Dog and a extra hoodie.
He picked the little dog up, as he did so it made the noise of a tilting teddy bear.
Stubborn Dog had three coats on to protect him from the chilly damp air.
They reached the car park at 7-40 am.
It was dark, damp and foggy.
Beach Buoy carried his little mate down to the beach.
They headed for the water's edge.
Exactly where the water's edge was bit of a mystery.
The silhouettes of a man and his dog gave a clue, as most people like to walk by the sea.
The visibility was around 200 metres.
Wind Turbines? ... no.
Hartlepool Headland? .... no.
Seaton Village Green? ... no.
Waves broke in the muffled air.
The sound was muffled a little more by Beach Buoy's three hoods.
A fog coloured Seagull came into focus as it travelled north above the breaking waves. Moments later it was gone as it faded and blended into the foggy greyness of the morning air.
Beach Buoy collected four cold, wet stones and headed for Stubborn Dog stack.
After the stack was stacked, he paused and looked out to sea.
The waves were almost perfect surfing waves, if a little small.
Beach Buoy was no expert, they just looked right.
People stood around looking like the Gormleys on Crosby beach.
Beach Buoy walked to the north.
He stopped to look at the sea once more.
Before he knew it he was staring out into the bay too, but he was more gormless than Gormley.
He watched the sea as some people watch the flames of a fire.
Waves collided, merged , stumbled and died; a bit like people do.
Once he had watched the random dance for quite a while, he headed for the van and coffee.
LATER....
Fish Sands.
Hartlepool.
Beach Buoy headed for The Fish Sands around noon.
He was so pleased to see a man sitting, repairing a fishing net.
A nod to the past.
Lots of Ghosts on The Headland....
BEACH BUOY.
