Sally and Richard's welcoming house is a only few moments walk from the esplanade - beyond the pagoda shaped shelters lies the ancient, soul snaring, sea - tall cranes rise above gutted Victorian hulls - the clouds mark out signs in the sky - the pier is like a weird feverish palace - giant teacups spin kiddies round and round - a sign points the way to the Lido Cafe -
Anne walks along the seafront with her two sisters, Jane and Sally - the salty gale whips their hair - the sisters are like, and yet unlike each other - sometimes, when I'm staying with Jane and Ken in Karabortlen, I hear Jane's voice from the dream filled garden - I think - that must be Anne, that's her voice -
We pass by a marvellous domed building - Anne joshes me about Kublai Khan - I imagine Coleridge, entering the tea room, hidden by the smoke of his transcendental thoughts -
We stop, for croissants and cappuccinos in the Cafe des Artistes - the Mona Lisa looks down from her window - I stare at a tangle of nets and floats, left upon the pale shingle like an installation -
Inside the cafe, there's a pleasing sense of having entered a devil may care, raffish, world - the waitress is forgetful and dark haired -
We sit outside, around a rough wooden table - waves crash upon the beach - the gale is increasing in strength - I think - we could be calling up a storm, the four of us -
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