A promise made

Beach journal 25th February 2026

West Pier, Brighton. 10.05am. 12°C, sunny with a light breeze from the south west. Low tide.

It’s a mild end-of-winter day, with the kind of sunshine that makes a promise of what’s to come. This break in the rain and fog feels like paradise. It’s suddenly too hot to walk in the coat I’ve been wrapped in for months.

The beach is busy with ball-throwing dog walkers, women and toddlers squatting on the stones, a sprawling party of students with backpacks and baggy jeans. I’m excited to see the place coming alive again, albeit in a rather desperate grasp for light and energy.

Of course, by tomorrow when the clouds and drizzle return, it will fall back into its grey habits with the occasional lone sea worshipper for company.

The gulls are not back yet and the shops and cafes under the arches are still peaceful. Nevertheless, the first signs of a seasonal shift are here at the shore. Winter might not be ready to let go of her hold but change is coming. Change always comes.

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As I write this it is ten days until my birthday. Its a day that typically brings warm rain, except for my 21st when it snowed. From the 2nd floor windows of the nurses accommodation, high up on the Race Hill, we watched Brighton gradually disappear, under the low grey sky and falling snow. It was magical and soothing to be wrapped in the softening layers.

But now I’m revelling in the sunshine in my room, the window open, the faint sound of a radio on somewhere and a sky so blue all I see is hope.