Laters

There's a bench on the clifftop where I like to sit and read
or write. Not so much in winter, sure, the North Sea breeze
can freeze your assets sharpish. This morning it was chilly
up there, but nice enough to sit and stare. Bruce was off with
a pal of his, a scruffy fat alsatian called Albert, but not for
long. He came over and sat with me, staring. It's that time of
year. On a clear day you can stare forever. A fishing boat
came round the headland, heading for the estuary. A Thames
barge, unmistakable, farther out on the same course. Gulls
soared, shitting and screeching. A little old lady emerged out
of thin air at the cliff edge followed a minute later by a little
old scotty, panting. There are thirty eight steps. I know, you'd
think someone in Planning.... Walking back to the Hundred
Year Old Landrover, it occurred to me that those steps might
come in handy, one day. I hope I have the choice.


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