Monday 17th December 2001 8.43am
A clear frosted day with no wind, either to take some cold away, or to blow some heat in. The half tide reflects the pink sky and the orange-pink bloom of Black Combe: the whole hill is lit up with early morning light. Someone stops on his way over and we talk boats, and I explain how I stop here on the way to work. “I used to be in there”, he says, waving behind at the yards, “but they finished me".