Sunday, 20 May 2012


SeaRead's southern office posts rave reviews for Richard Hawley's song.

"A beautiful track from a genius musician."

Here it is.

Saturday, 19 May 2012


Mike Evans writes with this:

At that age the Seaside was an adventure.

You’d both have been about eight or nine. I had no cash, but we’d ride three abreast in my old landrover, singing mildly mucky songs we’d compose for the occasion. We’d eat mucky grub: ice creams, cola, fluffy sweets with no nutritional value. Because when you only have your kids at the weekend that is what you do – spoil ‘em rotten to try to concentrate the good times and forget the pain of separation. Except it can never entirely be forgotten, as you said, Josh , “I miss my Mum when I’m with you, and I miss you when I’m with my Mum.” And I thought, knowing its pain myself, what a terrible burden that missing must be. And I offered you another ice cream.

We’d go to Ravenscar and camp. We’d cook sausages, eggs and beans on the old primus stove. We’d not wash. We’d skip teeth cleaning rituals just this once. We’d drink n the sights and smells of the seaside, scrambling down the almost hidden cliff path to the beach and its endless rock pools, some big enough to act as swimming pools. We would hop and jump between them. I’d look at the two of you, memorizing every movement your little bodies made, etching it into my mind, knowing the missing time would come. In the rocks were fossils.  The air was filled with the slightly pissy smell of festering seaweed and salt coated rocks and the tang of the wind blown off the waves.  I can still call to mind in an old film format your leaps and bounds between the rocks.  There was always the sound of gulls. I don’t remember ever seeing a raven.

When it was time, we’d climb back in the landrover to go. You two would be tired, and I’d make a nest in the back of the landrover, amidst all the camping kit and other gubbins in there, and you’d be lulled by the movement of the vehicle, and doze¸ falling into each other. We’d reach your Mum’s house. I’d unload you and the kit, receive rebukes for your unwashed state and kiss you both goodbye. Then I’d wave to you both, honk the old landrover horn and drive off down the street.

At the corner, out of your sight, Id pull up and bawl like a kid till I could get myself together enough to drive home.

Wednesday, 16 May 2012

Welcome to Searead.

If you are a lover of the sea, this blog is for you.

If you are a seafarer, sailor, beachcomber, fisherman, diver or eater of seafood, this is for you.

If you draw inspiration from the sea, or if the sea fills you with peace, excitement or other emotion, this is for you.

If you are drawn to the sea, be drawn here.

If the sea calls you, catch its echoes here.

Come. Bring what you will of the sea - written, drawn, filmed, made in any way. Share it. Enjoy it. Tell it as it is.

This celebration is open.

Bring controversy, bring experience, bring goods, bring feelings, bring story.

What the sea washes up on your shores, bring us to share. Plunder and driftwood, bring it here.

Waving? Drowning? Welcome.