The world according to Beachcomber: Generally you search and discover a lot that is of little consequence, no pearls, no pigs, no buried golden treasure creeping through to the surface. Stoop to pick up driftwood, oddly shaped pebbles, sculpted glass and stagger over the detestable plastic and polythene remnants of some not quite passed by or passed out civilisation. Head down like a lonely maniac, a loose metaphor, scavenging on the edge, bitten by unseasonal winds and spray that erupts like a slow vertical blizzard. This must be where everything ends the journey, bogged down and botched up and washed ashore like refugees and so much forgotten trash. The scale of everything is off the scale. We are all guilty of various misdemeanors and if you're looking for something to hang on to yourself with then it's clear to me it's mostly going to be indifference.
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