At this time of year there's nothing I like more than to sit beneath Brighton Pier.
It beats walking lonely streets with the wind whizzing by and holding out for the prospect of sleet.
I watch the kids playing with the timber.
There's so much here, another shipwreck cargo untouchable the clown cops and authorities would have us believe. But I'm on holiday and their barmy UK rules and clown cops mean nothing to me.
I run from beneath the pier at this time of year and build a stack, build a wigwam, build what the heck I like.
It's this time of year with the sleet and the wind on the street that I'm searching thinking of the felled tree, the continuous D.I.Y sales and clown for cops stopping me and my mates from enjoying just the tiniest of splinters and feeling the sleet on our faces on the cold and windy beach.