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| OCTOBER 2001 |
| THE SEPTEMBER COAST (MUSCUTT) Nobody visits the coast when its not deemed to be time of year Ice cream shops closed and boarded scraps flutter on the breeze And the sea crashes on relentless so endless and so clear No food shortage no petrol crisis they�ve returned to their cities And the coast remains alone the coast takes the pain Rain falls hard on a bleak morning sometime in December, the sound of people talking and children playing replaced by the occasional sound of cars and the ever present splash of water in puddles�And nobody sees this, they leave as soon as the sun retreats to its hiding place�but they�ll come back. No living thing remains except the playgrounds of their minds Carved into the landscape like an abandoned town of souls Nothing became of the coast just crumbled and fell into the seas Crumbled into the seas but nobody saw it nobody ever will Playing Nintendo with God playing games of digging up the dead And now it remains until the time it all goes astray falls away Walking up the hill that leads from the town centre to the place where I live, look up at the sky hoping to catch a glimpse of the mid afternoon sun�but it�s hidden�hidden behind a layer of cloud so thick not even the rays of such a huge planet can penetrate it. But nobody sees this, all the tourists they�ve gone home and they�ll never see their holiday homes covered by shadow�but they�ll come back. This is about Teignmouth, where I live, and what it�s like on the grey winter days when all the tourists have gone home. It�s unlikely many people come to the South West for a holiday in the winter, but a few people must have. Everything on the seafront, the ice cream stalls, the deck chair rental people and everything else seem to just close down and it looks really empty. The parts in italics mean they are spoken parts, by the way. |
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