Late last night (after the bedtime yoga), we hung over the balcony rail for a while and looked at the sea. There was about 3/4 of a moon very high in the sky. The moon-path was a short fat wedge of light flashes reflecting off crumpled water.
Kind of slitty down your eyes and soften your focus - it could be a crowd at Wembley Stadium or Glastonbury, dancing wildly with their phones out taking flashy photos of the stage.
That puts me on the stage looking at them. Cool.
F started staring at something else in the dark - or rather at the absence of something else. There was no dark shadow of the bus-stop shelter across the road. Oh - yeah I could have told her they (orange vested they's) came and took it away today. Shelter is gone, seats are gone. I'm surprised she took so long to notice; she went for a swim when she got home from work and must have walked straight past its absence on her way to the seaside rickety stairs - and back.
Round here elderly people use the bus. Waiting for and riding on a bus (or any public transport) must be a completely miserable experience at this time of year. It's baking out there (38 degrees in the shade on our balcony at 2000 hours last night), and now those poor folk can't even sit in a sliver of shade while they wait. They have to stand on their poor achy legs and swollen feet, getting sunstroke. Not cool.