Thing is, my need for shelter meant I couldn't sit and look full on at the wreckage of the pier that inspires me. I think if I had done that I would have been blown home like a crisp packet.
While I was imagining myself to be looking at the pier from another angle, a man went for a swim. Once in the sea, the raging waves made the white of his swimming cap look like a ping pong ball, sitting high on the water. I watched that white dot dance in the distance as he did double arm backstroke in a lurching line that seemed to go nowhere despite his efforts.
He rode, he was driven, he was debri, and then he surrendered to a blissful looking float, out beyond the breakers, where he found a surge that carried him high in the peaks and low into the shadows of the troughs without taking him to shore. His Friday kicks looked great fun, but I did feel a bit of motion sickness.
This sketch was done last year from the spot I was wanting to sit in. What I was interested in, yesterday, was to look at part of the wreckage that reminds me of six pairs of work jeans pegged out on a clothes line. I realized that I've never sketched them. I guess the 'jeans' are swathes of material that have fallen from a ceiling long burnt out. But the thing about them is, they don't move in the gale, as proven yesterday on the windiest day for weeks.
Further beach stake-outs are needed, obviously.