Swanage Pier in the rain, escaping from linear time

I have a strange longing for piers - whenever I walk upon these slender promontories of wrought iron, I feel that I am half way to a different world - I leave the seafront, with its parking bays, perhaps an amusement arcade, with a claw - I am between the sea and sky -

I especially like walking upon piers in the rain - I want to feel icy rain drops upon my face - I want to see an icy, archaic, sea -

When I read Ulysses for the first time, I was sitting upon a beach of pebbles and seaweed - Russell's Triumph Herald was parked somewhere - I can remember brooding over Stephen Dedalus' observation that a pier was a disappointed bridge -

I thought of this moment recently, when I took a stroll upon Swanage Pier - it started to rain - all the colours of the world were washed out - two burly fishermen took refuge in a shelter - one wore a thick checked shirt - there was no one else upon the pier -

I looked back at Swanage - there were no holiday makers being jolly in its streets - the mineral shop, with its polished crystals and ammonites, was an empty cave - a woman read the Daily Mail -

Standing at the very end of the pier, I could see the vague hesitant outlines of other coastlines - perhaps the Isle of Wight, or the coast beyond Bournemouth -

I looked at a memorial tablet fixed to the back of a bench - rain drops beaded the brass surface - I wondered who Dudu was - what had been the shape of her life?

I thought of Russell, listening to The Doors - it seemed to me that this pier took me out of linear time - the rain washed away the present -

If I looked back, towards the esplanade, I knew that I would see the Triumph Herald - there would be figures standing beside it - I could almost hear the eerie keyboard playing of Ray Manzerak -