I keep this journal everyday, written on the day, so you can still see and compare what happens on individual days. Feel free to click back and see every day in more detail. It will remain there for you, Free as long as this website continues. It makes me happy if you read it.

The waves, in hungry, unrelenting sheet after sheet of grey.

Up, between the branches of the pines, the sky, whatever colour, is beatufully framed, as always.

The sea is turning itself up for a last hurrah for the year and anyone venturing out has ventured back.

Cold and damp and grey. If there’s not enough comforort in that why not spool back over the past twelve years record? And I’ve been keeping them here on my website since July. Plenty for everyone.

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The air is bitingly cold but the sky clear with fluffy, good time clouds. There is a cat toying with the sun.

The occasional raindrops are cool and refreshing and make goldfish mouths in the puddles.

sure enough, down commes the rain in big square blocks. People dash by wielding big, black umbrellas.

And remember, there are people out the on the West Cliff that need help more than I do. We are a family. The afternoon light is deep and golden. A plane drones over head.

Walkers wonder what they’re going to do with their extra two minutes today,

The litter man is assiduous and caring. Without him and his deputy the West Cliff |Green would be in a sorry state. Merry Christmas to someone who makes our lives that much better.

The shadows are long and by midday the warmth is beginning to go out of the day. But there are people enjoying the day on the cliff top.

The crows stand along the rails viewing proceedings with jaundiced eye as though they were Senior masters standing on the touchline their tattered black gowns trailing behind them.

No-one sitting on the benches today.

Someone has paused to gaze at the wintery view and put their drink down and forgotten to pick it up again.

Crunchy grass and diamond encrusted foot paths. Leaves wear little jewel encrusted diadems.

Overhead, streamers and rolls of dark cloud cross from horizon to horizon as the weather front retreats away across the bay.

The English oaks and the silver birch are quite naked now but there are already next spring’s tight red buds ready to go.

A slight but steady swell which creates a wide Cavalier collar of white lace along the tide line.

The sky is sullen and grey and the sea shivers quietly. On the horizon, the grey mist lingers. It appears like an abstract modernist painting.