Beach Hut ideas

This is a picture I took of the hut which I was involved with which a local Museum wanted to exhibit. I loved this hut, and am responsible for its recent history. It has passed from the dozy Council's control to a hedge fund manager to the current owner who has altered its functional black tarred look-out appearance (it was designed by its famous architect as a sailing races start -hut , complete with a cannon!) If you go looking for this hut now it has changed you can at least find traces of "Tim Baber" "Hut 501" or "Little Black Hut" and my most effusive beach hut websites included web.mac.com/beachhutman/Beachhutman, now off line. It was all about this little hut. Also , eliptically, in the defunct websiteI mention I remember I celebrated a beautiful Ambassador's daughter who came here, and who had my keys whilst I was away, and if I think about it, another woman often then in the news I found also seeking solace and who found peace here, if only for a short time. I have no secrets, but a beach hut, like a possibly cryptic note found in a book, will tell little of the lives it has touched for the better. And you can sense that. Rarely, though, can you sense for the worse. James Westfall Thompson summed it up in the chapter beginning thus: "Books, like men, have their fates. Some meet solitary and tragic ends; some fall in holocausts ; and some , after strange vicissitudes, narrow escapes; and long wandering, find peaceful asylums where, nursing their scars and mellowed by experience, they will relate something to the curious. [The Medieval Library] You can counter this tragic duality with the optimistic teaching of a man steeped in much more esoteric euphemisms and classical lore, a luxury for the rich or determined.... Stephen Medcalf, a relative of my family and a lecturer who became a friend of T S Eliot for seeing the "religiosity" in his work, is one of those sentient to the liberty of place, the compromises of role. His reclusive learning had surprised even Eliot. In a beach hut, away from the prattle of life, listening to music perhaps but in its purest manifestations, you have found a place not for your stuff, or other people's stuff, but a place for you, and all that you love. May they be co-regenerative .