Spring rush

Beach journal 1st April 2026

West Pier, Brighton. 11am. 13°C, cloudy, light breeze. High tide in an hour.

Wednesday morning. The road from the train station heads straight down to the beach and a trail of visitors crawls along the wide pavement. Easter school holidays and milder weather encourages day trippers to come and see the sights that I wander past most days.

On my walk through the city centre, parents can be heard rounding up curious children. At the beach the yells and whoops from the basketball court and the volleyball game carry across the promenade. There are gatherings along the shore. I hear a man explaining about the fire that burnt down the pier.

This annual transformation of the seaside can grate a little on my senses. There’s solace in a deserted, grey beach during winter that holds me gently. Even on the stormiest of days I feel the expanse, the breadth of the sky and the wide ocean that give me room to think while the familiar historic structures and natural sounds comfort me.

With spring the energy changes and my thoughts are interrupted by people bringing the seaside back to life. It is both invigorating and slightly sad. Like finding a quiet spot in a favourite cafe to write, then being addled by the lunchtime rush.

It is of course a wonder to see people outside, loving the beach as I do and watching the landscape change. It’s an exercise in remembering what it is to see the beach as a rare treat, a holiday excursion, a special memory.

The water is high, dark grey and the deep waves are rebounding off the steep shingle. As I watch, my eyes seem unsure if the water is moving in or out. I sit a little way back from the ledge that has been shaped by last night’s high tide. Occasionally a strong wave breaks over the top of the ridge making the familiar crash of water rushing over the stones.

White wind turbines are visible in the distance. The bones of the old pier stand strong. Some things remain the same.