I hesitate before stepping out from the shelter of the car, and, when I do, have to turn my back to the sea in order to fasten my coat which is almost torn off me. A raw, buffeting, wind shrieks in over the cliff edge and scours everything in its path as it heads inland. Sea and sky are a uniform grey. There is no horizon. Tumultuous waves roar in and shatter into white shards upon the rocks a long way below. The gale is so fierce that I have to struggle to get near and peer over the edge and am then held there, fighting to breathe.
Again the silver car is in the car park. Its occupant is motionless, looking straight out to sea. I can see rain approaching; a grey ghost moving silently over the waves. I hurry on.
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