The scent of the weed could be detected as we cycled to the shore. An assortment of seawead types with purple, pink and brown hue, lay dehydrating on the stones. Long brown tongues of Dabberlocks, strewn across the whole scene, those near the sea edge are shiny wet and those further up the beach, have a matt finish and are begining to smell.

The day is very grey and a fairly thick fog covers over the division lines between sea, ocean and land, giving the atmosphere a gloomy and slightly surreal feeling. A hoard of large crows has infiltated the beach area and are scavenging shell fish in the piles of seaweed, giving the whole area a feeling of doom, mystery and haunting emptiness.

We are alone on the beach and veilled with the mistiness, we get ready to go in. The water is only visible 100 yards out to sea, and all is grey, almost silent and sullen with desertion.

The water is grey with a slight tinge of sea green. The sand is suspended in the liquid with the churning of the waves. An undertow drags to the east, and the groynes help to keep us for loosing our direction and being swept along unknowingly away. Swimming back into the shore, gives a perspective on the scene, which is unfamiliar and stange. As the waves break ahead, their backs look like huge scaly crocodiles that chunter to the sand.

The silence and cold are reassuring that I can still take the low temerature not having been outside for a while. It dulls the stress and desire to be busy, and reminds me I am solitary and weak. The perspective of an ocean vast and dangerous…