All that remains's blog/

So I have finally sucumbed to the English Photographer's pecadillo of photographing beach huts. Can't tell you why these last two weekends I wanted to, but I did. Can anyone tell me why they are so photographic?

Charmouth Beach huts

It seems odd that wether they are closed up or occupied they appear to want your attention. Perhaps it is that essentially a garden shed is personalised and put on public display. Now I can hear many of you say that rarely are they personalised, coming as they do (generally) in either wood brown or an ordered set of colours. But, as anyone who has visited the English seaside in summer will tell you, each occupier brings a little bit of home ritual and puts it on display. Favourite towels, books, beverages and food, music, patterns of behaviour. You would say it is all a little extrovert if it wasn't for the general lack of ostentation. In fact it seems a little strange that people who live most of their lives privately behind closed doors should choose then to display their home comfort so openly to strangers.

Steamer point beach huts

It could be argued that everyone on the beach is behaving the sameway, but if you look at those who sit on the beach the pattern of behaviour appears to be different. Enforced by the environment, but also social rules, there are less home rituals present. Although, I guess with pluging your ears into the MP3 player being the normal response for kids these days perhaps that is not so true anymore. My point was going to be the beach is more about the picnic ritual, food chosen for convenience and to be a little different to what is eaten in the house. There is an element of show, more than required, the best we have. Special equipment chosen to reflect who we are and what we aspire to be, less everyday.

The stones are murder

We were on the beach a Seaton a quick visit to get the kids out of the house, ride the tram and then home. The sun was glorious and the skies were filled with that light white cloud that make for the best summer skies. The kids were throwing one of the many stones from the beach back into the sea, when I heard a woman further up the beach say "These stones are murder on my feet". Seems strange that it should have stuck but there we go I looked over in her direction as she picked her way gingerly to the esplanade. Above and behind the hotels was a bank of dark cloud, ominous and dark, brooding and very noir. Body on the beach I thought with a title to boot. Oh what a fortunate day - I don't often get the whole package in one instant.

Soooo if you are looking for a book cover for a seaside murder/thriller please keep me in mind.