I walked across the cliff-tops, past the bluebells, aquilegia, wild garlic, campion, gorse, red beetles, yellow nettles, ferns, streams, and rabbits, and peered down at the ocean below. (I also got burnt by the sun, covered in mud, and got fed up of the flies.)

The East Hill Lift (funicular railway) took me down into Hastings itself, and then I visited the Shipwreck Museum, which had details of the Amsterdam shipwreck in Bulverhythe and others.

I climbed a tree amongst the cow parsley and dandelions, while the butterflies fluttered past. This was in the meadow between the railway line and the busy main road, now verdant and thick with grasses. Everything had grown so much since I was last there. It was six o'clock in Fairyland according to the dandelion clock.

When I arrived in Hastings on Friday, I headed to the beach and sat on the pebbles, staring out to sea and at the remains of the pier. Even the sign that had once said "You can save me!" had disintegrated. Today though, I saw a headline about the new pier, so perhaps in a few years, I will be back there, staring at that.
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"Means of escape", was written on the window of the lodge where I was staying, and I smiled every time I read it, as it reminded me that I was on holiday, and this window, this lodge, was helping me to escape.

Traipsing through rain, they screamed and swore, adding to the cacophony of sirens, disco beats and speeding cars, on Maid Marian Way. I couldn't sleep and my mind was full of acronyms. Earlier that night I had eaten watermelon chutney, and before that, I had sipped a pheasant plucker in a pub set into a cave. I also remember a shop that had a sign on the door saying it was close today.

Near to a waterfall and past a river full of lilypads, stood Waverley Abbey, the first Cistercian abbey in Great Britain, now in ruins.

Dragon's teeth loitered on the river bank, but I was distracted by the wonderful yew tree growing over what may have once been part of the abbey. The tree was unfortunately full of pirates on their way to Bermuda (at least they didn't seem to have the Rage virus, I suppose), but eventually they set sail, and I gazed upon the glorious tree, roots twisted and exposed, and the bark: red, pink and peeling.

In Moor Park, I wandered into a pillbox covered in foliage and graffiti, and peered out through bars onto the field below. Further along the path, a swamp appeared, and I wished I had a boat to traverse the river in. (A deep water alder swamp!)

A cave known as Mother Ludlam's Cave was situated near the end of the footpath and I peered in, looking for the devil, witches, fairies, or maybe just bats. (The Legend of Mother Ludlam- the White Witch of Waverley.)


More photos on Flickr: Farnham.

Her face was scrunched up and she looked as if she was going to cry when she was told, "it's just not good enough, Amelia."

A little girl wearing purple ran towards me, then stopped and waited, then when her accomplices had caught up with her, ran towards me again.

"I am the fastest," another girl said, as I turned another corner.

Batman took the guise of a little boy that day.

These are children that aren't quite real: Aerona, Bernadette, Carlotta, Delilah, Eirlys, Ffraid, Gladys, Horace, Ivy, Jodi, Kraken Kong, Lemon Curd, Medusa, Neptune, Omekey, Pimlico.

I wandered through King's Wood, hoping for bluebells, but I stumbled across:

Shiny green tiger beetles mating, flying, still hooked together.

A mass of ants, swarms of ants so great I could no longer see the ground. (I am still paranoid they are crawling on me, every time I think about them.)

Bright orange nectria cinnabarina, which looked like sweets on a log.

A peacock butterfly, fluttering before me.

The bluebells were not quite yet in full bloom and I was disappointed about being too early. My mum and I started to admit that we were slightly lost. She had sat down to have a smoke and I had walked further up the hill to see what was at the top (a field), but then to the left, I noticed the beautiful expanse of purple bluebells, and inhaled the scent. We found a small path through them and it was then that I felt a rush of wonder and could not stop saying "wow".

We continued back down the hill and came across a sign that said "Super Kingdom" and sculptures like houses or temples on the trees, and we realised that they were also bird houses.

The analogue television signal was switched off in London on Tuesday night and even though I don't even have a television set, that seemed terribly sad. In London, on Twitter, words such as "Ceefax", "Bamboozle" and "Teletext" were trending and people were getting nostalgic for Teletext, Digitiser, and so on. (Even though Digitiser finished years ago.)

I visited David Hall's End Piece that evening to pay homage. 1001 televisions laid in a large room, some already dead, but the rest simply playing static. It was a dark room, mostly lit by the glow from the screens. The sound of the static filled the room, the buzzing, the swarming, and gosh, it was loud. Wandering amongst televisions, I kept thinking there must still be one that was receiving a signal, and indeed, there were two with faces on, but that was just Stooky Bill.

There were all kinds of televisions lying in that room- pink, yellow, black, grey, and on the screens, the static that was played seemed to vary. I gazed into the screens, at the patterns and the colours, inhaling the scent of television, feeling quite emotional somehow, about the abandonment of analogue.

(Watch the exhibition on YouTube: David Hall's End Piece.)

I walked along the pier, past the fairground and the colourful helter skelter, to the end of the pier, where the fishermen stood, and then turned around, back again, past the tree with a face and the waltzers.


A starfish washed up on the shore.

The music from the pier was so loud I could barely hear the sea.


Jaywick
A mish-mash of houses, many that were once holiday homes, and were seen as temporary. A martello tower, which I climbed, and inside were portraits of people who live in Jaywick and messages from children written on balloons, on paper boats, on postcards.


Brightlingsea
Home of the Smack Preservation Society. Also, a limb of Sandwich.

Colchester
In Colchester in June, people will attempt to set the world record for the most people playing hopscotch in the same place, at the same time.

It was raining, but she was photographing blossom anyway, her camera pointing at the sky.

"Buy records," a sticker instructed.

A while later, the thunder came and I remembered when I last took my shoes and socks off and paddled in puddles during a storm.