Soup By Volume
This is a sales pitch, of a sort. Not something I was born for, maybe I will think of it more as a performance: stage fright is the right sort of uncomfortable.
This morning: traded a sixty pence parking fee and a jar of diesel for an hour at Widemouth Bay. Parked south, walked north, where the salt spray spumed from every jag of rock. Body tucked in a winter coat, trousers rolled up, flip-flops dumped in the car. Messy waves wash in warm, spread a brief mirror on the sand. The sun is floored, but still untouchable, no matter how much I give chase. The cold wind is what I breathe in, is what sticks to my wet legs as we tread sand back to the car. Put the choky old heater on. Sand is what I wear on my feet to drive home.
This morning's journey is the pause I take before pressing the publish button. I'm not sure if it makes any sense, but it feels like a good adventure to have- this is what I've put together- 'Soup By Volume: A collection of eccentric, pragmatic, imaginative encounters with everyday life, from the Wishbone Soup Cures Everything blog. Wishbone Soup is a real dish and the epitome of finding happiness in a variety of circumstances. Not the blank happiness of owning stuff: the deep real kind that people need if their lives are going to mean anything. Through the medium of everything, from a bright red kettle to the discovery of a vomiting tree, moments of brilliance are revealed. This is a diary, a bunch of opinions, a description of many kinds of weather, a writing journey, an enchanting, eclectic jumble, a strong, flexible body of work.'
That felt like a rehearsal. Good to start now, then, to get these cold sandy feet warmed up…