when the sea fog rolls in

Shoreham

There are few things in the world as eerie as the coast of Sussex when the fog rolls in. Like walking inside of a cloud, simultaneously wet, gray. Dickensian even, depending on where you live. Shimmering, murky shapes emerging out of the mist as you get close, not with a fair amount of warning, just …

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the new hood

bruce eating Shoreham

Today was my first day commuting by train from Shoreham to Brighton. I left bright and early, expecting the usual commuter crowds, annoyed that I hadn’t bought my new monthly ticket beforehand and pre-emptively being grumpy about standing in line to get a new one. This was exacerbated by the fact that Jon and I …

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