Après swim
Can’t feel your hands? Can’t feel your feet? You must have been in the English Channel.
Seven Sisters
From mind-the-Birling-Gap.
Swimwear shuffle
The last thing you need when you’re changing on the beach, is someone sketching you.
Under the cliff
Between two deans: Rotting and Salt. Smells quite nice though.
Swap your phone
…for a book on the beach…
Brighton beach life
Coats. Boots. Balaclava. Brrr!
Autumn beach
Whatever next!
I must have swallowed too much salt water as I am hallucinating sun umbrellas and swimmers on Brighton Beach at 7 in the evening!
In the shadow of The Reek
The small chapel on the summit of Croagh Patrick (known locally at The Reek) was shrouded in mist this morning.
By the time I’d managed a truly bracing dip in the Atlantic, it was just visible from the lovely Betra Beach. 
Pretending it’s not winter
Whilst the temperatures in the UK teeter above freezing, I’m warming myself up by remembering lying in a hammock, sipping juice from a huge freshly plucked coconut by the tiny island of Hon Mot, a year ago today.
The island is connected to Phu Quoc by the wobbly ‘monkey bridge’, just visible in the far right of the sketch.
Pasty legs and wonky feet are all you need to make life sweet
In between slaughtering chickens, the charismatic café owner gave these two fishermen (presumably her sons) a right ear-bending every time they stopped work to watch me sketch!
No pressure!
cmoorelife 