The trip down wasn't as fraught as I had expected. Damp on the roads but nothing by way of rain, or sleet, or snow, not yet. That came last night and I woke up to a flurry.
I love this town. I get slagged off for my frequent visits, sometimes alone, at times with others. But it does something to me. I get groans at its mention from those who refuse to come, as though its visiting would offer me an unassailable lead.
This is the only place where a Super Valu sign can give me pangs of nostalgia, of thoughts racing and possibilities, of peace. Those same pangs proving rare these days. It's the first thing you see off the bus. You see.
It's been a bit cold to walk down by the bay so far, I forgot a scarf and I never own gloves. I don't like their feel.
I did slip in and out of one or two pubs, took a drink here and there and sat in the darkest corners I could find.
Not that it mattered, there's nobody here to see me. It's very quiet, whatever pictures you may have of a tourist spot - overrun by Americans and Chinese and returning nationals - can be dispelled right now. Not the time for it. It's deserted.
On two forays out last evening I counted eight people passing on the streets, all local, all saying hello to the cold looking lad in the dark grey coat, scanning around for a fire and a pint.
I have nothing to do here but write and walk and eat and drink and think.