Right then, that’s me done for the year. Tomorrow I’m off to hopefully drier climes for a week or two and I’m not taking a computer (though I might just pack the camera…).

So, wherever you are, Happy: Christmas, Yuletide, Midvinterblot, Saturnalia, Bodhi day, Hannukah, Pancha Ganapati, Mōdraniht, Mawlid an-Nabī, Hogswatch, Pre-January sales etc* and may the coming year be the one in which you find whatever you’re truly looking for.

–

*Sorry, I’m a bit late for some and too early for others but whoever your god is may he, she or it go with you.

When my sister and I were really small our grandparents sometimes used to take us to Southend for the day. This was a special treat for us because, unlike outings with our parents, we were allowed into amusement arcades. Indeed not only that, but on arrival at the seaside we were each given a big bag of pennies with the instructions not to wander too far, while our guardians nipped off for some refreshments. Unchaperoned, we could roam freely among the flashing lights, mechanical novelties and shiny tat, and actually participate in as many of the games as our financial reserves allowed us. The hall of mirrors was a favourite. Not only could I lose my sister for minutes at a time once inside, but it took so long to find your way out again that it left us with piles of cash to squander as quickly as possible on the slot machines, I invariably spending the last of my fortune trying to get the mechanical crane to grab the plastic paratrooper (complete with parachute) I always wanted and never got hold of.

This was definitely the high point of the day, much of the rest of which seemed to involve being told to be quiet while nan and granddad napped on deckchairs. However, I do remember buckets and spades, and the occasional ride on the donkey, whose rough hair always reminded me of my grandparents leaking settee.

Then came the drive home. On the whole, this was ok, Suzy the ageing wire-haired terrier would play with my sister and I on the back seat or join us in looking out of the window, and time would pass as well as it ever does for any child on a long car journey. At a certain point we’d inevitably be told to “calm down” because “granddad’s trying to concentrate”, and by the end of the afternoon they’d be getting grumpy, but we both knew that grandparents get tired easily.

Then would come the really boring part of the day, when granddad would park the car outside a big house by the side of the road, wind up all the windows and nan would say “we’re just off to stretch our legs for a bit so sit quietly till we come back”.

I could never work out what ‘stretching our legs’ meant, as all they ever seemed to do was head straight for the big house, but it always seemed they were gone for hours and all my sister and I could do while we waited was look out of the windows and play I-spy. I wish I could remember the place better, but the only thing remarkable about it was a picture of a queen outside hanging on a couple of hooks. Eventually though, our grandparents would return, always in a much better mood, and the rest of the journey home would then fly by.

When I was eight years old I decided that I’d had enough; I was going to run away from home. Despite the row with my mum that had finally forced my decision beyond thought of any further negotiation, this was not going to be a matter of just flouncing out, I knew I had to prepare properly and so I retreated to my bedroom with the family suitcase to start packing. I was a little offended at the lack of comment as I dragged the ungainly lump of leatherette down the hallway, but I decided to dismiss this as adult stupidity, and set to work deciding on essentials for my forthcoming life on the road. This proved to be more difficult than I had imagined. Action men are quite awkward and take up a lot of room. The Lego could be removed from its box so that individual bricks would slot into odd crevices, but the junior chemistry set needed packing properly as there were several items of glass among the pieces, and I certainly wasn’t going to leave behind the drawing pad, pencils, paints, brushes, rubber, crayons… Books were a real problem; books turned out to be really heavy. To save space I’d just have to make do with the clothes I was wearing, but even without these I couldn’t get the lid of the case shut, let alone pick it up. As the light faded on that grey winter afternoon so did my hopes of ever escaping.

In a few days time I’m off to St Ives again, and once more I find myself faced with a list of essentials including: camera, spare camera body, lenses (12-40mm, 7-14mm, fish eye, 60mm macro, 14-150mm) flash, tripod, torch, ipad, extra batteries and battery chargers for the aforementioned, pencils, pens, notebooks and sketchbooks, thermos flask… and I am beginning to wonder how much progress I’ve actually made in my life.

“Hello Brian, can I have a cup of tea?”
“No.”
“And some chips?”
“Fuck off.”
Another customer is standing at the counter. “Go on, ask him where his fish comes from.”
“Out the sea.”
“You know some fish comes from tins don’t you?”
“Don’t you bloody start” says Brian.

Transaction successfully negotiated, I am presented with a steaming mug of brown tar and a huge plate of chips, twice the size of a normal portion. Brian likes me.

Deck the boughs with bells and holly
Tra la la la la, la la la la

Every year there’s a point when you know it’s no longer possible to carry out the walk home from work in daylight, and the temptation is to shut out the gloom and the rain, taking the quickest route home. But if you can get the timing right, there’s a point where you have both the blue remains of evening and an explosion of artificial suns from street lights, windows of offices and homes, shop displays, traffic signs and the headlamps of cars. Even by the beach the glow of the city pushes back the darkness of the sea and a walk along the shuttered seafront shops and bars is like stumbling onto an empty stage set.