The debonair Basil Marigold's

This evening my wife and I went out for a walk in Brixham. We reached a T junction where we would normally turn left and head along to Berry Head and the Napoleonic forts. This year we took the right hand path. This is also part of the south west coastal path that circumnavigates Devon and Cornwall. From Brixham it takes you towards St Mary’s bay, and Mansands and the next beach along, the nudist beach,Scabbacombe beach.  Most of the pathway follows the coastline quite rightly, but here was the initial pathway along towards the first beach of St Mary’s. From this point onwards you get pretty close to the headlands and cliff edges. This walk from St Mary’s to Kingswear (approximately 7 miles) can at points be fear inducing from the narrowness of the path to the fact that a metre lunge to your left and you have 200ft to meet your maker. However the very necessity of taking your life into your hands leads you along the path to Mansands and the views of my hometown go from pretty nice to a

I was sat outside the library in the town I was essentially brought up in until I departed in 2001. I was waiting for my daughter to come out as we’d been in to get some books for her. My son was in urgent need to not wait for her, so we’d headed outside to wait where he could regale me about something. He is afraid of silence.  A lady in a nurses uniform walked past and looked straight at me. ‘Hello, Tony.’ She said as she carried on past. In the proceeding 28 years I, to my shame, had misplaced her name in my head. I recognised her, but the name is somewhere between the lips and the abyss. It was so strange that she said this as she carried on as it was delivered like we had seen each other a couple of days ago in a pub or a cafe. As opposed to having last seen her when we’d left school in 1992.  Have I not physically changed enough in these last 28 years so old he could literally pick me out by walking past a bench in 2020? It would seem not.  I don’t know why it made me feel so hap

We’ve wondered down to a little out of the way cove while on holiday. It’s called Churston cove and is on the south west coastal path just past Brixham and before Goodrington. When I was a teenager we used to come here in the evenings for barbecues and beers, the odd swim. I was never a huge swimmer. Actually, I was technically, I was a huge swimmer in the physical sense.  It’s a pretty little cove. It reminds me of Greece, this little part of Devon, carved out of solid rock millions of years ago.  Today I had a bit of a dip with my son who has discovered that if he uses me as a taxi he can go further out to sea than on his own. Fortunately he’s quite buoyant! He seemed to enjoy the experience of being in deep water. I enjoyed my little swim too. It has probably been a couple of decades since I’ve swum in the sea. Swimming with a tidal mass is hard work.  As you can see it is pretty calm around here and fairly well shaded compared to some of the more touristy beaches you can go to. Thi