Now behind the eyes and secrets of the dreamers in the streets rocked to sleep by the sea, see the titbits and topsyturvies, bobs and buttontops, bags and bones, ash and rind and dandruff and nailparings, saliva and snowflakes and moulted feathers of dreams, the wrecks and sprats and shells and fishbones, whale-juice and moonshine and small salt fry dished up by the hidden sea. (Under Milk Wood – Dylan Thomas)
Blackpool, Christmas Day. Low season, high winds. The sky swaddled with cloud. The sea restless and threatening. The English seaside resort in winter: shuttered, forlorn, dormant.