Going down the local? A phrase I’d hear time and time again when young. Always about a pint or few. Often followed by a party or two; and a stumbling, riotous wander back to somewhere and, perhaps, a cake cooked at two in the morning. These days I am more sober. I am older and a touch wiser. My local is now the beach. My haunts are shared with seals, not beers; kelp, not crisps; and the thought of singing while swimming, fills me with thoughts of drenched lungs and spastic choking. From May 2015, I am here in Brixham to muse on the next third or more of my life, nestled in on the edge of England, cocooned from the suffocating, stifling, stultifying illusions of the metropolitan. At ease among the remnants of the wild edges. My thoughts will change and shift, but I am glad I am here.
Mrs Ape also writes occasionally, but takes a fair few of the photos.
This blog transferred from Ginger Swimmer at the end of January 2011. Posts up to then may have slightly odd formatting.