It's true you can't live here by chance, you have to do and be, not simply watch or even describe. This is the city of action, the world headquarters of the verb -
look at the sea, frantic with masts and sails, the land galloping down to it, gorse flowers flying, wind in its mane of flax; and then, there it is, crags with their feet in
the water getting breath for the next round. Swimmers here swim, they don't loll about, wind surfers likewise skim, plunge, the very gulls are wilder than most, they
hardly land; or if they do that too is a kind of flight, the arm of the wind coming up and ruffling their frills - the wind, yes indeed, incorrigible voyeur that never goes home.
For the sake of filling the time between now and lunch, as I am currently lacking in meaningful content beyond "Gee, it sure is grey and rainy today", here are two blurry phonephotos of my sister taking a sledgehammer to a poor defenseless desk:
