Becky, under the cliffs at Dover. I’ve always liked the beaches around Dover. I think that started when a friend Rob invited me to a rave at the foot of the cliffs a few years ago. The premise was quite simple, we’d carry everything we needed along the beach to a site Rob had chosen, then in the morning, we’d leave the place as we found it. I remember the generator being the worst task to be allocated, and two people were just given that sole job, instead of shuttling things to and fro like everyone else. They’d drag for a bit, stop, smoke and look out to sea, sun setting and the cross channel ferries lit up against a pink sky. Then they’d carry on a little further. If I recall correctly, Rob premiered his skate video at this rave, but it’s what he played afterwards that always stuck with me. Projected huge across the cliffs, he played old figure skating routines, with a perfectly matched soundtrack. It was beautiful. I think about what it must’ve looked like from the ferries, looking back to England, an evening ballet on the white cliffs, on the solstice. It must’ve looked sublime. I asked Rob, with his back to the sea, looking down at a computer, what it all meant. What was...this? ‘This? I’m just playing some figure skating and some songs I like man.’ But I sensed that the whole thing, the meeting up, the delegation in the car park, the generator being dragged, the marks we made in the shingle, the pauses to look out to sea, the dancing, swimming, were all part of some performance that Rob was orchestrating, which we were part of. ‘I’m really just playing some videos I’ve liked and some songs off Spotify’ he persisted after I asked again. Knausgaard wrote, offering some concurrence that it might’ve all been in my head ‘My feeling of happiness was so ecstatic ... the world is constructed in such a way that it meets you halfway in moments precisely like these, your inner joy seeks a outer counterpart and finds it, it always does, as nothing is as relative as beauty’ I think Rob knew. Over time I’ve stopped asking, as I’ve realised the surprise of the feeling is partly due to not knowing, to not expecting. So I’ll keep it that way.