Good Friday: Shoreham - East Wittering (25 n.mi.)

Back to sea. The sores haven't really healed yet, but I'm binding them up with electrical insulating tape - the only thing that will stay put. A grey drizzling morning set the tone for day: one of the most boring paddles ever, into a mind-numbing vista of greyness. At one point the sun tried to come out, but only managed to turn the clouds slightly yellow. Turner could have painted it. A solitary tern (I think) performed crop-spraying manoeuvres above a small patch of grey water, but apart from that bird there was no sign of life. Even the gulls couldn't be bothered. Came ashore at Wittering and trollied the boat up to the campsite marked on the OS map, fuelling up on fish & chips en route. Campsite is phenomenally expensive. Too bad.

On reflection, not everything was grey. This boat moored off Selsey Bill had a particularly colourful skin condition...