Summertime

It all began with June, Oh! So happy June, sun tanned, sun blessed, undressed June, when days melted and forecasters didn't need to invent reasons to be cheerful, Oh! So cheerful June. Balmy, barmy days of dusted off barbecues, unpacked shorts, sockless sandals and toes bared and dared in the water. Languid seas rippled with the play of teasing porpoise and the shoaling of early mackerel. Bargain buys of sunburnt factor screens, lotions and potions are sprayed on, rubbed in and scrubbed off, we all smiled.

Then it rained! It kept on raining, a bad tempered wind blew, chasing off the mackerel and those better, longed for, soon to be forgotten days. July filled to the brim with fury, tempest, deluge and flood. Positively over flowed with, Pac a macked, umbrella bashed, slippery booted, unsuitably footed tourists intent on weathering out the storm, " After all we are on holiday!" The father announced and the little child cried. Tearooms, shops and doorways rustle with steaming, damp and musty travellers, seeking shelter and a shoulder to moan on. Throughout its long, dank, drowned days of sodden cobbles and badly bruised, uninvited clouds, July rained.

Busily, scarily, exhaustedly prepared and arranged maritime themed events and festivals had to be hurriedly withdrawn or hastily relocated or just scraped through with. Padstow and Scilly bound yachts became weather bound, enjoying the Clovelly hospitality so much they became pub bound. The month was slipping by.

But it is still summer, people still brave the days, boats slide to sea with whooping, cruising crews and hopeless, happy fishing parties waving rods as they wave good bye. Seasick gulls pilfer and peck at pasty crumbed, discarded bags, leaving a mess and not caring less. Burdened bar staff announce numbers across the hungry harbour holding arms of plated, frozen chips. Tombstoning, wet suited youngsters show off before throwing themselves off the, "Seen it all before," Quay wall.

Summers long, dampened days fall into evenings as crowds of smouldering smokers keep guard at the bar doors, while pleased with themselves drunks wake the, "Trying to sleep," village with dangerous, under the influence nocturnal dips. Rows of unclaimed, too heavy to return, empty glasses line the Quay waiting for the morning. Curtains twitch as the last orders chorus stagger their rambling, grumbling way home.

Summertime slips into August and a promise of better weather and bettered totals as Clovellys 'Lifeboat day and sponsored swim' embarks upon its annual voyage of rediscovery. Hosted as normal by Sharon, our very own celebrity treasure chest and featuring the furtive locals, the engaging tourists and with special guest stars the cast of Bristol Iron men and accompanying ensemble; with the weather holding fast and a generous filling of stalls, barbecues, games and aeronautic displays by the brave and daring crews of Chivenor Air Sea Rescue helicopter and our own lifeboat, a grand day was had by all.

The harbour continues to fill with its semi-diurnal tide of tourists. I wait as ships pass unseen, on passage for shores beyond my horizons, as waves come crashing, washing the salt, kelp rocks, delivering unheard messages from distant mermaids and carrying the thoughts and smiles of those whose glance is missed and longed for. I wait for the summer.