“I used to imagine that if I got up early enough in the morning and went to Pebbly Beach, I'd find my special someone walking along the shore front, waiting. But she was never there.”

“I never got along with my dad. Kids used to come up to me and say, "My dad can beat up your dad." I'd say Yeah? When?”

“I haven't got any special religion this morning. My God is the God of Walkers. If you walk hard enough, you probably don't need any other god.”

“Most people walk along the beach hoping to find a fossilized Megalodon shark’s tooth or something. But not me. I walk along hoping to find a fossilized pirate with a fossilized wooden leg, for my collection, which I’ll start once I find the first one.”

“I dreamt we walked together along the shore. We made satisfying small talk and laughed. This morning I found sand in my shoe and a seashell in my pocket. Was I only dreaming?”

“That was the only time, as I stood there, looking at that strange rubbish, feeling the wind coming across those empty fields, that I started to imagine just a little fantasy thing, because this was Norfolk after all, and it was only a couple of weeks since I’d lost him. I was thinking about the rubbish, the flapping plastic in the branches, the shore-line of odd stuff caught along the fencing, and I half-closed my eyes and imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was now standing here in front of it, and if I waited long enough, a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field, and gradually get larger until I'd see it was Tommy, and he'd wave, maybe even call. The fantasy never got beyond that --I didn't let it-- and though the tears rolled down my face, I wasn't sobbing or out of control. I just waited a bit, then turned back to the car, to drive off to wherever it was I was supposed to be.”