Beach Buoy hadn't been to bed.
He had fallen asleep on a reclining chair, exhausted with a Stubborn Dog for a hot water bottle.
He woke.
He made coffee, both for now and later.
He put Stubborn Dog and a warm drink in the van and sat there waiting for the glow plug light to go off so that he knew he could turn the key.
He turned the engine.
The large 5 cylinders rumbled into life.
He set off.
He turned on the radio, but hadn't pulled up the keep fit aerial, so the reception was intermittent, more Norman Collier FM than Radio Tees.
They drove to the beach with David Bowie holding the Collier microphone.
Uncharacteristically Beach Buoy hadn't been to the beach for four days.
They arrived today at 7-25 am.
The wind was wild from the south east.
Beach Buoy felt the cold pass right through his coat as if it wasn't there.
He opened the tailgate door of the van and opened the small wardrobe to the right.
He reached inside and pulled out an extra hoodie to wear.
He returned to the side door of the van.
Thankfully the sliding door side was the side that was protected from the biting wind.
Off with coat.
On with hoodie.
On with coat.
Three hoods went up.
Stubborn Dog came out of the van sporting two layers and his fluffy fur coat.
There would be no sunrise-seekers today!
They headed for the beach.
A depleted and socially distancing 7 am club were already on their way back to the North, down by the water's edge.
Two couples were on the beach also; one with a dog and the other without.
The council had been removing sand that had built-up against the Promenade wall.
The sand build up becomes a ramp for drifting sand and can cause a problem in the village.
They headed for the water's edge.
Before they reached the sea, Beach Buoy spotted a sea alley.
It was the first one that they had found for months.
Beach Buoy usually finds then down by the Pier but not here, right near the car park.
The wind was wild.
Gulls stayed low, close to the beach, dipping down every now and again, searching for breakfast on the beach.
Rain came.
It wasn't falling, just travelling horizontally from the sea.
Rain like grains of rice, powered by compressed air.
A Gull ventured both out to sea and higher in the air.
The bird tilted it wings and leaned as it was blown back to the beach
The sea's waves were so high that they hid the horizon.
Beach Buoy clenched his gloved hands into fists to try retain some heat.
He buried them deep in his pockets, not wanting the world to think he was angry with it or anyone.
He was just cold and old.
They stacked the stack.
Five stones today; one for each visit missed this week, plus one for today.
The sea was unpredictable, the tide fairly high, so heading for the Pier via the beach was a bit of game of Russian Roulette.
They continued south via the dune edge.
They passed a camp fire setting, welcoming flames long since gone.
...then a driftwood bench with a sea-view.
The greatest of all benches, no matter what sea, what view.
Beach Buoy and Stubborn sheltered behind one of the dune mounds for a while.
He made some notes in his beach book as waves crashed into the ageing Pier.
Even in the shelter of the dune, the pages of his beach book flapped about in the swirling wind at least the rain didn't seem so bad here.
They watched as a grateful ship escaped the wild sea and headed for safety of the river.
They began a slow but wind-assisted walk back.
Every now and then the sea would try and catch them out as it came in running on and on the with sea's momentum carrying it in.
They climbed into the shelter of the van.
Beach Buoy dried Stubborn Dog with its grey fluffy towel.
Beach Buoy sipped coffee and had bite of chocolate as he dried himself with his blue and white stripped fluffy towel
Small or far away?
Promenade People.
The new sea alley.
New bottle required.
BEACH BUOY.
