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The Harbour

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The Harbour The harbour begins to wake as the rhythmic chug of boat engines slowly return. The waves explode like bombs against the harbour wall. Fog is dispersing to view a fantasy of narrow streets strung with captivating souvenir shops and sophisticated restaurants. Morning darkness fades, slowly the clouds drift, revealing a pure, spotless blue sky. The town hall strikes 8 o'clock, shop shutters rattle as they raise, doors bursting open with a helping hand awaiting to welcome the customer with an embrace. A pungent smell of fish fills the air. A gust of wind full with repulsive odour lingers. Sun-kissed light pours from the sky, the reflection upon the water blinding. Solitary streets are now animated. Harmony is no more but the day is still premature. Exhaust fumes float as workers withdraw from their homes and start up their engines. The traffic is solid throughout the town. ...read more.


Lightly battered fish, so crisp when you take a bite. Slowly the batter falls down your oesophagus leaving succulent flakes of cod warming your lips and tongue. Chips so soft, your first taste is sea salt and malt vinegar, secondly the slight grease tickling the back of your throat. A taste of potato whirls as your teeth chew, and then all matter of food disappears from your mouth. Guilt in your mind about the fat content but the taste takes it away. Squawks are amongst the crowds as gulls swoop down for scraps. Gently relaxation occurs. Youngsters run with slight indigestion, the smouldering crisp sand making their young feet so sore. Afternoon falls. The beach is still packed with sunbathers and children. A drowsiness dawns. Some people sit upon the harbour wall watching waves ripple in. Sticks of rock go crunch, candyfloss melts and fudge just makes you chew. ...read more.


Soothing music from an unknown live band rings in your ears. Fishing boats begin to proceed out to sea. Hard workers wander down their local pulling out the pennies to achieve a taste of real ale. All that is recognisable in the darkness is faint outlines of people and places. Ping! Pier lights turn on in their own unique brilliance. Club beats compose vibrations throughout the floor. People dancing and laughing makes the world seem blissful. So many people are having a good time. Slowly the volume creeps louder almost making your ears burst. Bang, tequila slammers hit the table hard, barely touch your lips but soon make you intoxicated. Jazz and liquor is no combination for anyone who is angelic and always seems to be composed. 'Ring a ding ding', bells sound. Last orders it's time to go home. An emanation of alcohol is upon everyone. Silence in the end. As the lighthouse flickers like a candle the glimpse of a silent shadow tumbles to its death. Anyone still awake, outside can only smell sea-salt and waste grub. The harbour is never always in tranquillity. ...read more.

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