Thursday 3rd October 2pm.
I finish my training session. Rep after rep of stinging short climbs. Rolling down the hill, the Bay spreads before me. Marina. Carpark. Barrage. The scent is dreadful. A jumbled up mess of sea smells, sewer improvements and haute cuisine. I wait for the barrier. Pull away.
Breezeblock grey. Mudflat brown. Tarmac black. A colourless domain. Flags blown horizontal masking dabs of colour in this rainbow free palette. Not a soul to be seen.
Life at the sailing centre. 7 red blobs fight a headwind. Their lifejackets offering protection from more than the sea. Arm outstretched a door is bundled open. The shower awaits.
An open top bus is tucked to the side. Two passengers only. The top deck lies empty.
Upturned collars on trenchcoats. A cigarette glows in the gloom. A crisp packet surfs the plaza. Hard to believe this is where people Meet. Congregate. Smile. Laugh. Cry. Life takes a rain cheque.