Problems with Seascapes

Sunday afternoon at Brighton. Pliny, her mum, and Nostradamus are walking along the esplanade towards the Brighton jetty. It is sunny but windy, and Pliny and her mum are feeling a little bit cold. Pliny is trying to think of an interesting way to describe the jetty.

The sun shines on the bleached wooden pylons, each space between the pylons framing a blue rectangle of sea. Between pylons 17 and 18 the rectangle frames a red and yellow surf life saving boat, further down the bay.

The following day Pliny writes that down.

You have only described what was under and beyond the jetty, observes Pliny the Elder, looking over her shoulder.

Just trying to give a different perspective. I don't like the Brighton jetty very much.

Perhaps you could make it talk, like you did the sea the day before. That was very innovative.

O thankyou, but if that jetty could talk it would only say beware.

Why?

Because it has a mobile phone tower at the end, cunningly disguised as a ship's mast and crow's-nest. But yes, I like to write about the sea. My diary is full of seascapes.

I should like to see those, said Pliny the Elder.

So should I. They aren't very easy to find amongst all my other remarks.