It was a lovely morning.
Beach Buoy headed for Middleton on his push bike.
Seaton Carew beach looked grand from the promenade.
He cycled through the marina.
He dismounted for the lock gates.
He rested his bike against the wall, near to the beach access straps.
He rested against the wall.
He watched as a man collected seacoal.
Much of the beach looked to be black thanks to it's presence.
Beach Buoy headed down the beach stairs.
Half carrying, half bouncing his bike downwards.
"Morning." said Beach Buoy as he passed the mansy pick up truck
"Morning."
Beach Buoy pushed his bike alongside as he walked a beach that looked to be 90% covered in seacoal.
The tide was well out, but memories came flooding back.
When he was a kid,
this beach
was
THE
beach.
Blocks of marina flats had replaced fisherman's cabins.
The wall in the background is where a young Beach Buoy would play football alone.
Alone except for a chalk-drawn goalkeeper in a chalk-drawn goal.
Dad would be in the cabin above, looking out to sea.
He headed towards the Pier and "That." bridge.
A green line showed the height of the sea at times.
The factory of Beach Buoy's apprenticeship stood behind cabins that had been moved twice now.
The Jetty.
Not what it used to be.
Lots and lots of old bricks lay alongside the Jetty.
Remnants of old sea defences.
Beach Buoy passed the cabins as he headed back.
He cycled south, along the Promenade.
Seaton Carew beach still looked vast, but the tide had turned.
BEACH BUOY.
