As I wandered along Climping beach, I found myself wondering how long it might take for those huge, cubic concrete blocks to be worn to sand? And that made me imagine, just for a moment, that I had been somehow reduced to a microscopic size and that the blocks actually were grains of sand. A little like sugar cubes might look to an ant perhaps.

But then I noticed that the remnants of those groynes looked a little like they might be the ancient skeletal remains of a terrifyingly enormous ichthyosaur; maybe the spine, or, worse, the teeth! Something like that.

After pondering on that for a while, I moved on to the thought that they were actually the teeth of an absent-minded giant’s comb, dislodged from a pocket as he retrieved his handkerchief in order to blow his nose, which made me consider the definition of the term ‘beachcombing’.

And then, it occurred to me that…

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Climping beach, West Sussex.
Usual caveats etc.

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It looks like someone, and a very large someone at that, has taken a giant cheese greater to the coast at Hartland Quay. What else could possibly explain those grooves that you can see heading out to sea. I can, though, guarantee that the resultant shavings would in no way be the equal in taste of, say, a nice bit of Davidstow. You know, the three year extra mature?

Cheddar. Nothing else comes close.

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Looking south from the car park at Hartland Quay, North Devon

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I actually spent quite a while writing something else to go with this photo (something to do with time) but it ended up being so very, very dull, that I thought that anything else would be better. Hence this nonsense. Tricky blighters, words.

Usual caveats etc.

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The sea was very keen on climbing the steps. For a short while I thought that perhaps it was heading for the local chippy, in order to secure a nice large portion of chips and some vinegar. These, I suspected, would go rather well with all the fish and the salt that the oceans are famous for.

It turns out though, that it was just high tide and that this behaviour was quite normal and nothing whatsoever to do with chips.

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The Bathing Pool, Summerleaze beach, Bude, Cornwall.

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DH48 can be seen here making the most of a very brief sunny spell whilst waiting for the tide to allow her to enter the harbour, the entrance to which is just out of frame on the right.

One wonders what she may have caught during this particular trip.

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Sometimes a photograph will suggest a piece of music. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, that suggestion will be something that you might never have expected, but the light and the score fit so perfectly together that it is impossible to consider an alternative.

Occasionally, you’ll even find that the scene itself will suggest the piece before you even lift the camera to your eye.

That is not to say that others won’t harbour a different opinion though. I suspect that the tune associated with any particular photograph is personal to the viewer. Others may offer some support: “Yes, I can see that…” or “Actually, the two do go together quite well…”, but in reality, it’s more than likely that their own interpretation is whispering, ever louder in their ears.

In this instance, for me at least, that music is the second movement of Violin Concerto No.1 by Philip Glass. Sadly, I am sorry to say that I am simply unable to find the words to explain why it should be so. It is also worth noting this is not what I expected, even though I am a life-long fan of the work of Mr Glass.

Should I ever get the time (which is not likely in the near future) I will attempt to write and record some music to go with this picture. I suspect, however, that I’ll just end up copying Mr Glass! Maybe I should pick another picture and have a go at that instead.

If you are not offended by the minimalist style, you could do worse than take a listen to the aforementioned second movement here:

youtu.be/butLQ_HQG2s

I won’t be offended if you don’t think it fits.

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The Bathing Pool, Summerleaze Beach, Bude, Cornwall. Taken on a winter's evening before the Great Covid Interregnum.

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