I love the view out across Morecambe Bay towards the Lakes. People say that if you can't see the Bay it's raining and if you can it will be raining soon. Looking inland though is quite dispiriting. Morecambe is one of those sad old English resorts that has seen better days.
Today the beach, bay and sky are varying shades of grey and brown. I have a good vantage point from the comfort of the Midland Hotel. This art deco hotel stood derelict for many years, but has now been restored to its former glory. I have a hot chocolate, my notebook and the weekend papers. I am a happy woman.
It's a good place to watch people walking along the seafront. The scene is brightened by flashes of turquoise and pink. A group of Indian women pass by; their colourful saris, topped by grey raincoats, flap in the blustery wind. Two men cycle past towing young children in trailers. A seagull hangs in the air. An elderly couple lean into the sea breeze and head along the stone jetty to the café at the end. This was the setting for my first short story. Sitting here again, my pen itches to write another.