Thursday, 7 April 2011
Beach walk: sunset and low tide at Worthing
Worthing is a large and pleasant resort on the Sussex coast, to the west of Brighton. Compared to Brighton, it's a Plain Jane, and decidedly sedate. But then that's a lot of its charm, that lack of frenetic buzz. It's still a good shopping centre, and the seafront is shingly and boaty, and there's a pier, and the sunsets are just as good.
Yesterday was mild and very sunny, and towards the end of the afternoon, after a nap, I consulted the application on my PDA that showed me the state of the tide, and when sunset would be, and decided to fire up Fiona and catch the early evening at Worthing.
This sounds as if I'm really getting up and about, fully on my feet again, and physically ready for any event. Not so. Worthing is only sixteen miles away by fast and easy roads, and let's face it, driving Fiona is a no-brainer and completely strain-free. All I have to do is indicate my direction, squeeze the accelerator a bit, and twiddle the steering wheel now and then. She will take care of nearly everything in the brake department, and most controls kick in and out automatically, including of course gear changing. I don't even have to dip the rear-view mirror: the glass darkens as required. I like to hear the growl of the diesel engine when accelerating, but mostly all is quiet and serene. Inside Fiona is like being inside a luxury safety capsule, where only token actions are required, not much more than you'd have to perform while watching the Thames from a pod high up on the circumference of the London Eye. Her electronically-adjustable driver's seat is very comfortable indeed, and is the only upright seat I can manage for any length of time just now. In fact it's the most comfortable seat I have access to. So it's little wonder that I don't mind getting out and about in my car.
But how you cope at the destination is another matter entirely. Seaford Head the other day was pretty close to my limit. But the nice thing about Sussex seaside resorts is that the beaches and promenades are wide and flat, and very easy for post-op trans persons with tight suture lines. And yesterday was a particularly low tide, so once down on the beach the going was easy-peasy on the wet sand. I got some shots in of course, and I wasn't the only person doing a spot of photography. There were several young men with SLRs and camera bags dotted about. They probably thought I was a mere girly amateur, with my little Leica and nothing else, but that didn't matter at all: it wasn't a contest. What mattered were the shots you got: seeing the pictures and finding a way to take them. Here's three more of mine:
I have to say I do like piers. Clevedon and Eastbourne are my favourites, but any seaside structure can have merit, and can look good if the light is right; and the sunrise or sunset light is the very best, and can make anything dramatic.
That beach walk didn't tire me out. I came back home in the soft dusk and cooked up fresh salmon, new potatoes and sugar snap peas, followed by coffee, and then watched a nail-biting episode of Masterchef, which is now approaching the final. After that, the evening dilation and so to bed. Well, eventually to bed: I fell asleep on the recliner in the lounge, woke at two, and then, with my night's sleep spoiled, kept on drifting off and waking up again every two hours all night long.
Basically I still catnap my way through the day, which is one reason why I'm not yet up for visiting anyone. It's not just the demands of dilation three time a day: I simply need to sleep whenever my body asks me to, and socially that's a problem.