f) 21 August

We watch, in horrified fascination as the armoured arm digs deeper
into the punk beret, then, in a greedy articulation of segments, like a
cross between an anglepoise lamp and Darth Vader, a pincered end
manoevres out to a concealed mouth

This is what happens here, when you are in the mood for some
excitement, but you don't have a telly licence - you go to your
favourite rock pool. It's either that or the Ritz. The Ritz is cheesy,
and you have to be crackers (or desperate - it is the only nightclub on
the island) to go there - neither of us has heard of anyone who ever
has, ever not either being involved in or seeing a theft or stabbing.
The police are always very careful to avoid driving past it after
dark.

When we reached our rock pool today, after clambouring over the rocks,
which are covered in that chaffy sort of gunk scattered with lunchbox
lids and three foot bits of frayed rope you always get on beaches after
storms, and saw the upturned sea urchin, I thought it had three of
those cute bright yellow winkles perched on it, all facing into the
hole where I guess it used to breathe and eat through, as if in
consternation. There was a very large beigey green whelk right next to
the spikey cream and pink shell, and a slightly smaller whelk on the
opposite side. It was only after watching a minute, when the smaller
whelk darted forwards on tiptoes, to be clouted back by a pincer
shooting from the larger whelk's opening, which knocked the sea urchin
shell, tumbling all the winkles off in a flurry of little flailing
legs, that we realised they must ALL be hermit crabs.

The smaller hermit crab hesitated a second, then scuttled off into the
seaweedy distance. The bigger one watched it go, aggressively
supsicious, while the winkle squatters edged back up the urchin's
curved slope. Ignoring them as being too small to bother with, a pincer
was once more angled into the hole for a rummage.

We widened our view and saw another big hermit crab watching from a
ledge above them, seemingly rubbing its pincers in frustration. Two
more winkle hermit crabs scurried away along the ledge, then appeared
to argue, as one pushed the other over the side. It lay still a second,
while its would be murderer paused, as if in innocent suprise then
heaved itself upright and disappeared into the murky underseaweed
world. The remaining winkle dweller sauntered off.

I wonder if the script writers for East Enders live near rock
pools?