We had a sun-drenched, gorgeous, lazy Easter weekend. On Friday we ventured outside of town to Cuckmere Valley, near the fabled white cliffs called the Seven Sisters, a site of many accidental dog deaths, and not so accidental human deaths. We climbed to the first cliff and I sauntered near the unguarded edge, to feel the thrill of impossible height. Seriously though, beholding a site as breathtaking as these, who in despair wouldn't want to meet their end here?
Those who choose to end it all in places of sublime natural beauty may be accused of uncalled-for melodrama. But maybe these places are popular for those seeking to remove themselves from this mortal coil because their grandeur makes one feel small? You stand atop a blinding white cliff, with the glimmering vastness of the ocean crashing hundreds of meters below, and perhaps you realize that it's all ok - because you are nothing more than a speck of dust...
(the tiny figure is D.)
Ahem... sorry for the morbid musings. Poetic sights always carry for me some measure of melancholy.
Cuckmere Valley is also one of the places where Germans were expected to make landfall, hence the occasional World War 2 bunker and tank tire barricades stuck in an otherwise idyllic landscape.
Anyway... The rest of the long weekend was spent on idle pursuits and eating out way too much, concluding tragically last night with possibly the most disgusting Chinese take away known to man. How is it possible to fuck up simple lemon chicken?
Also, how would you like to Watch my basil grow very fast