Back to sea. Off to the end of land, away from the pastoral, the pretty order of serene lawns, blackbirds and cottages, farms and ploughed earth. The tide carried us back down the sheltered rivers of the Tamar Valley, a gentle shove – like your brother teaching you to ride a bicycle – and we were out. Back to the westerly winds and Atlantic swell, a sea that demands your full attention, enthusiastic waves rising up in greeting. And what a show. The full palette of blues – navy, indigo, denim, azure – a cloudless sky of lunchtime cobalt scattered on diamond shards of water. Back to the excitement of squawking gulls chasing fishing boats, common dolphins chasing Isean. The sweet smell, like melon wrapped up in salt. My hand…