Notes from the West Country

A small Harbour some where on the North Somerset and Devon coast.

On the far side of the small harbour, the tide’s is out exposing a rocky seaweed covered beach.Just in front of the house with the white walls, wooden shutters to protect against the gales, and the ghostly end gable, a couple,elderly, dressed from a previous century are clambering stiffly, unsteadily, without conviction across the rocks, seeking safely on the quayside.

They look anxious, hesitant, as if fearing that the portal from which they presumably emerged some time before, may close, leaving them stranded in an unfamiliar century, in the wrong clothing, with no money, and no means of obtaining any.

Time travel must be such a stressful occupation.