A cold and bright morning found me at Seaburn with Charles Trenet's 'La Mer' still ringing in my ears. I suppose there are worse things than being unable to detached yourself from an absurdly cheerful song. I did wonder what he would have written had he been thinking of the North Sea off Sunderland. Even des oiseaux blancs were keeping out of it today. The tide was coming in so I couldn't walk right round on the beach as I had planned. Instead I walked along the prom to the dog and cat steps where I paused and watched the waves come charging in, looking across to the pier where the white horses galloped on to the beach.
I turned and headed back and then onto the beach to walk as far as the fish deli. There were a few dog walkers. The sand was firm and clean and there was plenty of seaweed that had been washed up, still clinging to its rock. As I walked back along the sand to the car, the sky was blue, there was a shining path of silver along the bay, tiny birds flitted about in the low cliffs and the white horses galloped proudly onward. Monsieur, I have the soul of a poet - if only I could write music and sing...
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