I’ve been going to my beach a lot since my Granddad died. More than perhaps I would normally in this cold month of January. Each time the tide has been out, leaving behind a vast sandy plain stretching to the edge of Wales, with scattered rocks and pools of water, where tiny sea creatures are marooned and can only wait for the waves to come back to shore.

I know I keep missing the tide, like old friends missing one another in familiar places. Our schedules are different that’s all. I know the waves are out there and it’s business as usual for the sea. But I want to see my old friend again, and sooner rather than later.