I am a mover, a traveller, a can't-stay-still-er. I like to be DOING something. Most of the time anyway. Doing stuff: better than not doing stuff.
But I've found a magical place where I don't want to do anything. Or go anywhere. Or move.
To be honest, I'm annoyed at myself that I didn't think about it before. I love the look of them, I love everything that they represent, I love the nostalgia and the purity of them. Why haven't I thought about it before?
The place in question?
A beach hut.
The humble, British seaside beach hut along the golden sands of Bournemouth no less.
Fine, I lied a little; there was some travel involved. Early travel at that. I woke up super early (although the sleep was restless when it eventually came, much like on Christmas Eve) to take on the A31 before the traffic hit.
The beauty of the early start was that I was at the beach in time to ride my bike along the promenade before the 10 am curfew. Like a boss.
Then, the non-travel began.
I picked up the keys to my beach hut (which perfectly matched the colour of my bike - it was fate) and unlocked my destiny. Well, a wooden hut to call home until sunset.
I pulled out a deckchair and settled myself down. Sat on the prom, cup of tea and biscuits to hand, I started the task of doing nothing.
I sat.
I watched.
I listened to the sea.
I warmed under the sun's rays.
I smiled at everyone (and the gazillions of dogs) walking past.
I just smiled.
The best thing about travelling are the people you get to see. The people you meet along the journey or the people who you find at your destination. The beauty of the beach hut was that I got to see both these groups of people, but I didn't have to move to see them.
I'd sent an invitation to various people to join me at the hut during the day. Not everyone could come (which was fortuitous as the beach hut was not the TARDIS) but there was a steady flow of friends and family who came by throughout the day. I was there for the long haul, but I welcomed transient visitors, especially when they brought buckets and spades, tractors for digging, ice creams, chocolate supplies, satsumas and provided much needed coverage for when I went to the loo or for a swim (not simultaneously I hasten to add).
Then there were the people I met along the 'journey'. Although I didn't move anywhere, it was still possible to meet people: the arguing family two doors up who spread all the way along to my territory; the kindred football spirits who we talked to next door; the beach hut owner the other side who's been lucky enough to own it for almost twenty years and has the interior decked out like a junk shop; the fishermen I met by the bike racks who told me what they caught and how cold I could expect the sea to be (not too bad as it turns out).
And to add to this, there were the thousands of people I must've observed throughout the day from my deckchair shaped vantage point: the family of giant bubble blowers at the sea edge in the early morn; the diligent joggers getting it done before the crowds; the teenage gymnasts tumbling off the groynes onto the sand like superheroes; the toddlers straying into the paths of other walkers; everyone on the land train I had to wave to every single time they passed; the old couples strolling hand in hand; and not forgetting ALL THE DOGS!
It was a busy day and I saw so much considering I went nowhere.
After twelve hours being on the beach, I made a last sweep of the beach hut (they provide you with a broom and I've never enjoyed sweeping so much) and locked up for the night. The smile never left my face as I took the bike ride back along the prom. By that time I was a little chilly, tired and covered in sand. But I couldn't have been happier.
Next time I want to go somewhere that makes me happy, I'm going to go nowhere.
