At the Edge of the World:
Childhood summer holidays were always the same - we camped for a month in a field on a farm close to the sea. Come rain or shine, we roamed barefoot back and forth to the beach and by night we drifted off to sleep to the sound of the surf. It was a magical landscape of leisure at the edge of the world.
Years later, I returned with my own kids to relive those halcyon summer days and found the smells of dairy cows and silage, of heavy canvas tents and sodden driftwood were gone and in their place were things more impermeable, synthetic and white.