Dawn, sea sand and slow lessons

Woke before dawn and rubbed my toes in cold Brighton sand while 'Ain't Misbehavin'' drifted from the radio between the gulls and the kettle. Made a small, proper cup of tea, cooled a piece of sea‑glass in my palm, and hummed the tune until the city began to stretch.

Ran a tiny workshop later — someone asked the question that always makes me smile: "Where do I begin?" Backdoor pleasure, it turns out, unravels nicely when met with patience, a ridiculous number of biscuits, and people who can laugh at themselves. The best kind of teaching feels like an after‑tea conversation that refuses to hurry.