I hope I am not infringing any copyright by quoting from a blog post that demonstrates Jan Carson’s way with words.
Portballintrae Harbour – by Jan Carson in her book Postcard Stories
Every New Year’s at midday we meet at the harbour and cast our ghosted bodies into the sea. We are no longer seventeen and over the years have progressed from last night’s underwear to trunks and T-shirts and, finally oil-sleep (?) wetsuits, straining to contain our spreading guts.
Like soldiers returning from the Front, we are fewer with each passing year. This morning we are two and a handful of bemused children sheltering beneath their anorak hoods.
Afterwards, shivering we say ‘Same time next year?’ and mean, as our fathers must once have meant ‘All good things come to an end, even the sea.’
odespinner 