..Bankruptcy For Cellular Blankets

There's nothing to love quite so much as a brisk stroll along the promenade, especially on such a blustery day when the cloud cover has been puffed away and I can see all the way across the clear miles of the wind-whirling estuary to the sleepy county across the water. I kick myself, wishing I'd brought my camera for the hundredth time since I moved back here three days ago. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in an empty shop window, I giggle and spit lemonade down my too-small coat; my hair looks like a blow-dried porcupine. A woman with similarly shocking hair walks past in a vest and Dickies boots, and smiles at little me, blowin' in the wind, kept upright against ferocious weather by a baby bump that strains against big plastic buttons, and clompy work shoes. Two boys in bobble hats and bomber jackets sit in the cemetery, smoking Benson and Hedges and rubbing their hands and looking for something to do. I almost fall in a newly-dug hole in the road, my head in my Blackberry trying to pointlessly get all of this down, and shove it in my pocket, quickly retrieving it when I see a SALE sign in the Mothercare window and decide falling in holes is a far more desirable option than bankruptcy for cellular blankets. It's cheaper. Ouch. Lamp-post there.