A plummet from Peak Hill and a bunny hop onto the prom. Sidmouth has never looked so quiet.
As is always the way my mind drifts to the first time I came to this place, some thirty years ago. I came to meet friends who were desperate to leave, whilst ironically I found in Devon a place I felt at home in. Pedalling out of town I pass familiar road signs. Livonia Road. Primley Road. I think of the letters and tapes that travelled between here and Scotland a lifetime ago. Life lines for me, certainly. An education.
In Sidbury the cream stone church crouches behind luxurious blossom. A red telephone box filled with books winks at me and I idly wonder if it contains a copy of The Warzone.