Gilded Palace of Sin

 

Beach combing by the pale moonlight has it's limitations. The flotsam and jetsam is often obscured by shadows and criminal acts of misspelling. As a result we found nothing apart from our feet. Meanwhile the local hostelries remain dull and unvisited, some closed completely as we endure the limbo of a closed season and the UK's economic fuck-wittery on a grand scale. Victims mutter in anger and prepare plans for soft revolutions that never come. I hear the voices. The glittering palace of entertainment, illustrated above and lapped by the incoming tide's grey ooze, was also closed but the last person there had clearly forgotten to switch off the lights. You just can't get the staff these days. 

It's not all doom and gloom though, the road works, in their third full month are coming along nicely and the traffic calming measures have ensured traffic stays away. That is apart from the traffic (Ford Fiesta STs mainly) that seems intent on crossing coastal grassland presumably in a late night attempt to keep the rabbit numbers down. The Just Eat drivers also add some colour to the pulse of the streets, every conversation is loud but no doubt necessary as the troop's rations are delivered in good time for whatever Netflix stuff is tickling the hungry customers. 

Now we're home, digesting a stir fry and feeding medicine to eager cats. That was Tuesday night's stroll, pretty much as it happened.