Pembrokeshire, Wales, 2014. We call it the upside-down cottage; the kitchen and lounge are upstairs and the bedrooms downstairs – a choice of floor plan that, to my young imagination, was peculiar enough to demand a title. Martin’s Haven calls it ‘Rath Cottage’, a lilting, cozy house situated on the Marloes Peninsula – the site of our annual family holiday.
Here we overlook the wild headland heath of the Deer Park – the earthy, honey-like smell of which I can recall even now – and rocky bays, where my dad’s binoculars reveal the bobbing cartoon faces of Grey Seals, amusingly unperturbed by the unruly waves about them. From the window seat (markedly uncomfortable, yes – but by far the best view in the house), you can see a triangular pocket of ocean, and at this time, in the hazy washed-out hours of late afternoon, the distant figures of the ships are switching their lights on. Like toy boats in a bath, I used to think.
It is this time of day I remember most acutely. Having returned from a busy day at the beach, or a long hike, and on the way home, relishing in that sweet childish daze that one loses in adulthood, there is a sweet spot of blissful stillness in which we read, or nap, or languidly play card games.