I love the seaside out of season. Deserted coastline and shingle to linger with all by myself. In the damp and drizzle, hood up, scoffing chips from the paper and avoiding aerial mugging by threatening gulls. Or the first sunny days of spring, unexpected warmth and sunshine. The way, no matter how old you get, you can’t resist treasure hunting amongst the flotsam and jetsam for seashore treasure. The perfect pebble, an intact shell. The sea is so old, it makes you a child again.