It's raining again. We're eating our lunch in the van, looking out across the choppy sea. It echoes holidays in England, not wanting to step out of the car for fear of getting wet and then cold. A group of gulls seems to be able to smell our 'meat lovers' barbecue through the windows and a couple sit menacingly on the wing mirrors. It tastes dry, mainly of tomatoes, but we're hungry so it goes down easily. The end's of my trousers are wet and cling to my ankles although they're warmed by the engine. Outside the window the gulls screech and run at each other, flapping into a frenzy when I tease them with a crust at the crack of the window.
