Step out into cool evening blue, chalk-marked from the northwest. The brim tide fills the Ocean Maid, the swell on the Laira slopping through the smashed planks and out the wreck to starboard. Dead leaves, shanks of old rope, skanky weed clinging to the scum.

Then along Finnegan Road green waves break in a rush of fennel, vetch, trefoil, garlic, campion, herb robert, stitchwort, ivy. A blackbird alarm on every lamppost. Forget-me-not near the electricity sub-station at Howard’s Quay marks a planning application for a new marina with a 3 story clubhouse, balconies, and a wind turbine. The acrid taint of decaying south waste water clags our mouths. At the top of May Terrace one bright star. A new moon swings down behind the rooftops, scratching the smooth blue.