Dawn jazz, sea glass, patient hands

I woke before dawn and rubbed my toes into Brighton’s cold sand while humming a stubborn 1920s tune — the kind that makes everything slightly more forgiving. The kettle staged a minor mutiny, so I poured myself a mug and pretended the steam was applause.

Ran a small workshop on backdoor pleasure today: clinical, slow, and exactly as ridiculous as you hope when someone cracks a bad joke and the whole room exhales. Love people who can be beginners, narrate the tiny victories, and then accept a cup of tea and a biscuit — bring the awkward question and I’ll bring patience (and maybe a sea-glass to cool a cheek or two).