It is a world of foaming tumult out there on the shouting chaos of the sea.
Are the waves tormented by the gale which blasts the flattened cliff-top shrubs and tries to lift me off my feet; or are the wind and waves in dangerous, wild revolt - Bonny and Clyde holding up cross-Channel ferries and battering everything in their way?
Sheltered, we stood and watched, enthralled spectators of the violent elements raging at the land with fists and feet, while scurrying clouds bore jagged teeth and spat at us below.
It would be death, I would have thought, inside the jaws of that ferocious storm, yet lying on the tumbling air were gulls with arms outstretched, casually proceeding against all odds towards their destinations.