Forgive me, today’s dip into the archive is singularly lacking in pretty flowers. In my defence I was gardening when I took this picture, no doubt doing some of my “deep thinking” whilst gazing Wales-ward on this bright October day. I spotted Peter, an elegant and intriguing gentleman who lives in the lime washed cottage by the sea wall, rowing out to sea in his ancient clinker built row-boat. In years past this was a bustling harbour and tourists were brought around the coast from nearby Ilfracombe, by men with salt water in their veins. Here they would enjoy the many tea rooms, the view and a paddle until they were returned at the end of the day. There are not many boats in the bay nowadays, ubiquitous kayaks and the odd annoying jet-ski, but few true boats. Peter would not have looked out-of-place in the roaring 1930’s, dapper in his whites and Panama hat. Unaware he was being observed, using the strong easy strokes of someone who has rowed for fifty years, he headed purposefully to nowhere in particular. His joy was being on the water in his trusty vessel, embraced by the sea. I was envious then and, looking at this photo again, I am envious once more.