A Splash of Red in a Cold Wind

This morning Pixie and I sat in a cafe in Salcombe, a small village on the South Devon coast, drinking hot chocolate and eating brownies. I watched Peter and Sparkly, our friends of a certain age, colouring in some children’s drawings with crayons. One of them kept strictly within the lines, the other didn't - I'll not name names.

It made me think about what gives us pleasure and, as I did, I pulled up my socks. What a marvellous but simple delight that is, the exquisite perfection of the heel of the sock moulding itself to the foot, the wrinkles straightening, snug elasticated cotton roundly encasing the ankle. There are few comparable experiences.

The 'splash of red' theme got a boost today in the Somerset seaside town of Clevedon. The Victorian pier had a close call with the demolition gangs in the 1970s when part of it collapsed. Apathy reigned and the idea of restoration became just a pipe dream. Fortunately determined agitation both locally and nationally over many years, coupled with inspired fund-raising, saved the day and the pier was restored. It remains as a promenade for stalwart British folk for whom a drop of snow and an icy wind are no deterrent to a Sunday stroll.