Over the top of Clodgey Point, scanning the waves for dolphins, I think I see a seal swimming around a small, orange buoy, then I realise it is a diver coming up to check for boats.
In a poor imitation of Alfred Wallis, a small fishing boat comes into view, then drifts behind the Point. A kestrel hangs motionless on the up-draught from the cliff. Down in the bay, a fringe of novice surfers get washed up on the beach - again. A Sikh photographer in a sharp suit and turban is shooting an Indian model, and the model jumps a little each time an incoming wave smacks into her backside, soaking the outfit. The wind is so strong that she can hardly stand up, and it is starting to blow the fixed smile off her face. I would love to see the finished magazine feature.
At night, a string of lighthouses pick out the coast for a distance of 30 miles, and a moon rises that is big enough to fill the entire lense of this telescope. Occasionally, a bat flies across it's face. Llamas scream in a neighboring field and they still haven't found the body of the old man. I think they have given up for the night. They'll be back at dawn. All wildlife seems to be here - except dolphins.
Thank you so much for lending us your house, Nikki - we're going to come back again very soon.