I photographed a group of people on the heath in Southwold, preparing, I thought, to watch the eclipse. They were, in fact, already watching the eclipse as my photo showed; an effect of the light flaring on the lens being the clear form of the moon slipping over the face of the sun. I didn't realise as I had no colander or special glasses, welding mask or pinhole camera. Maybe it grew a shade darker. I'd been on the beach and was still mainly there, my mind lost to any special visual preparations.

I've just returned from a holiday by the beach, in Southwold. Some friends hired a beach hut and for three days I was able to read, write, swim and other times lose myself in the blur of the sound of the waves, children playing and grown-ups doing much of the same.

This is bliss to me. You want to relax? Find somewhere shady near the sea and involve yourself with whatever comes to you. I watched children doing this; the younger they were, the less they seemed to be doing something against anything. Maybe against time, as they ran in circles or to and fro from the breaking little waves; or drew shapes in the sand, or followed other children around, or adults. There seemed to be just one aim: to get on with something that felt good, until it stopped feeling good.

The same happened with grown-ups, even older ones like me, walking, or lunging, eventually maybe swimming into the waves; jumping as waves reared up and broke; keeping going in the water in ways we would never imagine ourselves keeping going in life unless we took into account our thoughts, which would be where our minds were up to the same kinds of gymnastics. But here, at the beach, in the sea, a mind gets lost in the rolling of the tide, or the sparkle of light on the surface of the water, or held aloft on the gorgeous sound of children's shrieks of joy.

We keep going until we grow cold, or tired, or the sky clouds over.