Standing on the promenade, I’m alone save for a solitary seagull, perched hesitantly on the long, black, bumpy railing. We’re both watching the sky turn from linen grey to shades of tangerine as the sun briefly emerges from mottled clouds before beginning its silent descent.
But there’s a vital element missing from this elegiac seaside picture. Because there’s no water for the sun to slip behind. While I should be hearing the crepitation of waves and the hiss of spume against the…

