It's another wet day here, positively Scottish Highland wet, the sort of wet that's driving the local snails to seek higher ground.
It's wet enough to chase all but the foolhardy and those dressed in full Highland wet-weather gear from the bleak promenade.
This beach is so bleak, with nothing washed up despite the recent strong winds except green weed, plastic and the occasional dog whelk and oyster shell. The sea off here must be almost dead, a desert, confirmed when I asked one of the lone beachcasting fishermen what he had caught today, to which he replied, "One eel."
Some small boats were on the move including this very ship-shape and Bristol-fashion proudly US craft which showed no name along her side, hurrying south.
It rained steadily throughout my walk, much to the erupting joy of the proliferating local fungi.
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