Back in to it

The visit to Eastbourne was ended with a long (very long) steeply undulating walk along the cliffs from Beachy Head to the old listed lighthouse that had once been jacked up hydraulically and moved fifty feet inland to avoid the advancing cliff erosion. Beachy Head is possibly one of the most strangely poignant places I have been. If the signs for the Samaritans in the car park were not enough to remind you of why some people are drawn to the place, the first person we saw up there was a woman with a high visibility jacket with "Chaplain" written across the back of it. It is also a breathtakingly beautiful place and frighteningly exposed with small wooden crosses and flowers dotted along the craggy, crumbling and unprotected cliff edge. I shall not rush to return. Odd that one of the most glorious spots in the UK (one that on a bright day can uplift and invigorate) should become both a beacon and a shrine to the sad and lost because what makes it inherently beautiful offers certain oblivion should you wish it.