Eleven films, ten days, one city.

“Boundaries could become so soggy that they disintegrate altogether.”

It’s here on the south coast that I learned all sorts of countryside words. Coombe and barrows and heathland. Fingerpost, stile, kissing gate. Words that sound pleasant in a poem.

It’s my grandfather’s birthday. I doubt he’s ever had a pomegranate, so I’ll bring him one. I’ll read a little poetry aloud, so he doesn’t have to.