Storm Angus batters the South Coast

Last night I stood on the seafront leaning hard into the wind. It was foolhardy, an amber weather warning was in force. The sea was pitch black and I was leaning, almost falling into a windy abyss. The wind roared about my head in the darkness. The pebbles were being raked violently down the beach sounding like a thousand snakes. There was risk of being hit by then as the waves smashed them onto the shore and they ricochet alarmingly. The wind was forcing down so hard that the waves, vicious as they were, had no height, they were simply slim rinds of white foam slithering in one after the other like a cooling lava flow.

My first thought this morning: ‘Is the pier still there?’ Irrational, but giving cause to be inquisitive, I venture out.

The sea can be described as a bit ‘grumpy’ today. 106mph winds are recorded in Margate and over 80mph around this bit of East Sussex. The beach pebbles strewn across the lower promenade, making for a bit of clamber to pass.

Of course, I’m there with camera and the only one on the lower level. People wrapped in bobble hats and scarves and big coats look down from the Battenberg (the top level of Bottle Alley has pink and yellow check tiles. I described it as this to a friend, not knowing it’s real name and I’m pleased to say, the nickname is catching on) at me with concern and bemusement. The beach, as far as I can see is all mine alone, bar the ubiquitous gulls, who just don’t give a shit about the weather, flying forward, or being blown backwards, and the occasional Turnstone, feathers being blown backward, anxiously scavenging the seemingly rich pickings between thick foamy waves.

The waves come in sets. It’s hard to count, but it’s about 24, in sets of 2, then two huge super waves of crazy horses will rumble in, smash the pier, seething spray and chase me up the beach, rolling in a full five metres further than the other waves.

The pier feels solid despite the angry sounds below it. It feels safe. The amber warning is lifted, but it is still quite parky. The plastic lid flies off my paper cup and I chase it across the expanse of decking.

There’s a couple dancing in each other’s arms. It’s infectious and two other couples break into dance too. A Spaniel joins in.

Dancing to the roar of the sea

I love living at the seaside.