Saturday 17th November 2001 9.27am
A stiff brittle day, the air around still, heavy and almost lifeless, its weight pressing in and taking the long view away. Instead we have grey sky and grey water, the grey pushing the tide up to join the sky at the view’s horizon, pinching the scene into an egg timer of monotone. On the Promenade a few trailers are present, late fishermen who will be returning soon from an overnight fish off Walney.