I sit on the bench that overlooks the winter-grey waters of the Moray Firth watching an endless procession of waves break upon a shingle beach, each one in its way....
....unique, each bouncing and rearing as if urgent to throw itself to destruction upon the beach. I watch and hear the roar and bubble as they break and the hiss and rattle of their retreat, and wonder how many waves over the years I have seen break onto how many beaches, remembering....
....the best - like here, Nyali beach in the summer of 1957, a fleeting moment of happiness captured in a photograph.
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