24th November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The blustering boisterous wind pushes the trees this way and that until they seem uncertain about which way to go next. The leaves of the holm oaks are ghostly pale on the undersides so that they seem to flash first green then white in the gale. The long lines of old man breakers rush towards the shore white hair flying out behind them until they crash down on the beach in a maelstrom of hair, beards and false teeth like a thousand Father Christmases crashing into a snow drift and destroying the hopes of children everywhere. The early sun tries to push through the grey mist hung heavy on the horizon and briefly gleams dully off the flat we sand.
From 24th November 2021
The evening air is razor sharp . It's only a degree or two above freezing but it is chilling to the bone. There is a heavy dew and a slight veil of mist. The sea breathes in and out so quietly that you can hear the distant swish of tyres on the road above it. The yellow lights in the apartments and hotel rooms give the impression of warmth. Two girls are sat on a bench in the darkness. Their voices carry right across the green. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Autumn #november
From 24th November 2019
A fresh, eager breeze slaps me round my cheeks and buffets me along playfully. I can hear the excited squeals of delight as two early morning swimmers bob and plunge in the frisking, wrinkled waves. The surf creates a great concert hall rush of sound that accompanies my walk. The sky is clear apart from the great ragged blobs of battleship grey and purple clouds. Everyone I meet says “Hi.” Everyone smiles.
From 24th November 2015
It is only a few steps from the empty street lamps and the rush of traffic until you are deep among the pine trees. The silence is broken only by the mournful imploring of a tawny owl for a mate. Her call remains unanswered here and you can follow her as she makes he way away down the cliff edge. Then from the silence you hear the first wave. It is suddenly loud enough to startle but as you move from out of the pines it is there steady and regular like a great steam engine at idle or the whole world breathing.
From 24th November 2011
The dawn is almost operatic. Great splashes of magenta and crimson rising behind purple bruise coloured clouds and over a dark sea. I can see the working lights of three, maybe four, fishing boats spread out across the whole of Poole Bay from the Swash to Old Harry to Hengistbury Head. As the light thickens i can see the Durley Chine fisherman standing in his rowing boat following his lines back from the pier. By the time I have reached the clifftop the day has softened to its usual pale blue, gold and grey.
