The melancholy of the late evening hut - # 101/2011

"It's time to pack up now, dear!":  that dreaded statement at the close of a lovely childhood day on the beach at THE HUT!  The smell of the interior of the hut, the warm cosiness, the packing up and plodding back home on foot. The lingering smell of egg and cress sandwiches and smell of Daddy's war time infantryman's primus stove for boiling water in the whistling kettle. The smell of salty sea air and the shock of discovering sea borne fuel oil stuck to your feet and swimming trunks. 

End of the day - end of the line - # 99/2011

At the end of a long sunny day at Hastings I came to the west end of the beach where the town has petered out and things seem to get a bit less busy.  I found a few enthusiasts' fishing boats and this line of huts. (Heaven knows what the huge shed behind them is for - actually I never noticed it, I was so engrossed by the huts and the boats! Strange but true!).


I can't explain why I like this scene. I just do. It might have something to do with the quietness and the "end of the line" atmosphere. I don't know.