Down by the sea…


Wild campion, among the coconut scent of gorse. The southern part of Cornwall near Plymouth, as yet un-noticed…


A hut or hostel, left to settle into old age and gaze happily at the ocean…


Back and forth in ocean blue…



Future's so bright...

Once you get over thinking of Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake, the liberally scattered plastic is not without a ghoulish charm, smoothed and faded and gathered into swathes of similar colours (how?) that melt easily into the fly-blown, gently grilling weed. The result is that none of it seems synthetic. A kind of unholy soup, packed with man-made additives…


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