Chesil beach yesterday. An unearthly place baking in the sun. An 18 mile bar disconnected from the land for most of its length. Small gravel at one end increasing in size to easter eggs at the other. 18th century smugglers could guage their position by the size of the pebbles when they landed on it at night. Dozens of men, regularly spaced to avoid entanglement, silently angling for mackerel, like some religious order worshipping the sea.
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