Beside the seaside

Did a whistle-stop trip to Brighton this weekend to catch up with a bunch more people, as half of London seems to have moved down there now. On the Saturday I had breakfast, mid-morning, lunch and afternoon booked in with various old friends. But my first appointment of the day was a telephone call from Steven. I was staying at my sister’s flat, and the only phone socket was in her bedroom. She’d left the phone out in the hall for me, and the receiver just reached into the spare room, so I lay on the floor with my head up against the door for an hour. It was bliss.

A last-minute change of plan left me with a gap in my schedule before lunch. I sat on the beach in the abnormally warm weather and felt the physical sensation of missing someone.

I took off my shoes and socks and hobbled over the hot pebbles down to the sea. The water coursed over my feet, the same expanse of water that was lapping at Melbourne’s shore.