Having a wonderful time…

We're on holiday in Cornwall, leaving Ringmer free for Cornish tourists to visit. "What do you write in a postcard?" says my wife, as we shelter from the drizzle. Sadly she's not asking because she needs my literary skills. No, she doesn't see me as Hemingway in a Hawaiian shirt or Oscar Wilde with a suntan. It's purely practical guidance she's looking for.

Quite simply, she wants me to provide a summary of holiday highlights. But what have we done? We've eaten out a bit... but that's hardly unusual. In fact, there's not even a branch of Bill's around here, despite the company's recent expansion rate being equivalent to a culinary Big Bang. Perhaps my wife and I have been indulging in some holiday vices? Nope. Admittedly my pasty consumption is up, yet my coffee and cake consumption has dropped. No overall gain, I say.

I struggle to think how our behaviour has differed from any other day away from work. Let's see. Sometimes on holiday I wear trousers that convert into shorts. They seemed a good idea at the time. Instead of doing what non-holiday people do - checking the weather forecast before they leave home - I have trousers that contain a plastic zip below the knee. One day some enterprising sportswear manufacturer will probably create a jacket that transforms into a waistcoat and then a vest. I may buy one, despite the risk of ending up with just a single sleeve.

My wife was prepared for the rain and is dressed in a heavy-duty waterproof jacket. This is her sartorial antidote to my convertible shorts. It's a remarkable garment that appears to intensify her annoyance with the weather, compressing and focusing it into a glum laser burning from underneath the peaked hood. The result is like having a water-cannon aimed at your soul. In this coat she's barely recognisable as the woman I married, although I hardly dare look at her in case she turns me into a pillar of salt and then washes me away.

Anything else? Well, because I've been wearing shorts and sandals, my ankles are now sunburned. Under any other circumstance, a potentially carcinogenic injury that caused my skin to peel off would be treated as a medical emergency. Yet, from a holiday perspective, tradition dictates it should be viewed as somewhere between mildly annoying and hilariously funny.

I'm about to suggest this as a starting point for the postcard when there's a commotion down the street. As I turn to see what's causing the fuss, I notice a seagull fly out from a crowd of people. Adults are shouting at it. Children are laughing. The seagull displays a mouthful of stolen chips as it passes.

I steal a glance at my wife. She seems to be smiling. I wonder if she's amused by the seagull's antics. Then I see she's just written the phrases 'pink ankle' and 'comedy trousers' on her postcard.

First published on VivaLewes.com 14th August 2014

Come on in, the water’s fine

There's something rather compelling about a large body of water. The ebb and flow of the river Ouse captivates me whenever I cross the bridge at the end of Cliffe High Street. Swans swim past when the tide comes in, large chunks of Barcombe float by when the tide goes out. I'm equally intrigued by the harbour at Newhaven, the shingle at Saltdean and the pier-and-a-half in Brighton. This is probably because my childhood was punctuated with family walks along the seafront at Worthing, often featuring one of my father's weather forecasts. "If you can see Brighton, it's going to rain", he'd say. "If you can't see Brighton, it's already raining." Eventually I got the joke, although I spent many years marvelling at dad's meteorological accuracy.

Here in land-locked Ringmer, we have nothing bigger than a pond. This is a relatively static body of water, disturbed only by the occasional misplaced cricket ball or empty can of extra-strength cider. I once saw a heron there. It looked disappointed.

We can also rustle up a couple of old water pumps, which are fascinating historical artefacts but don't work. We even have a few half-hearted tributaries from the Ouse making their way into the village. But we just don't have the volume of water that has inspired poets and artists through the ages. There is, quite frankly, very little romance to be found in a shallow ditch.

My first thought is to mount a campaign. Plans to allow Cuckmere Haven to flood have proved contentious... so let's move the focus inland. Maybe the football club would trade their pitch for an artificial lake. Better still, perhaps the controversial plans to develop Clay Hill reservoir could be revived and refocused on the village green. Ringmer would become the windsurfing capital of Sussex.

As I search the internet for inspiration, my mission takes on new urgency. I learn that a research study last year found people living in 'marine and coastal environments' were happier than those further inland. This means my quest for some kind of aquatic feature is an issue that should concern everyone. Not only do we like to be beside the seaside, our well-being actually depends on it.

And, dear Ringmer resident, I have finally found success. I have tracked down a large body of moving water on the edge of our village. Not the swimming pool. Not a dew pond. No, I've found something with considerably more volume and more movement.

In fact, it's full of movements. So forget about the river. Ignore the sea. Bring your deck chairs to Ringmer's sewage treatment plant. The air is undoubtedly bracing and it's not too crowded. Some might even say you'll be flushed with happiness.

First published in Viva Lewes magazine August 2014 and on VivaLewes.com 31st July 2014