"I have NO PATIENCE for dinosaurs"

THE LAST LAUGH

Summer had gone. So too had the flocks of tourists who had swarmed over the sand and shingle marking out their territory with towels, blankets and bags of all shapes, colours and sizes.

The beach huts and kiosks had now been boarded up for the winter and the air was filled with the saltiness of the sea from the waves that were collapsing onto the beach, spraying up their foam and dragging the shingle and sand back with their watery grasp with loud shushes coming from the tumbling pebbles. The light wind buffeted the seagulls, who screeched and turned looking for any left-over tasty morsel that might be had, that they had become so used to, and the fine rain fell, mixing with the aquatic spray that had travelled just as far as its airborne relative.

Both sea and rain landed on the old wooden planks of the pier that not long since had been covered in footfall instead and the buttresses were still sturdy and defiant after all these years having withstood far more hardy challenges than a mere smattering of dampness, though the human visitors would've scampered for shelter and retreat to safety, forgetting that once they too would have thought nothing of such weather and would instead continue in their daily tasks shrugging off a gentle soaking.

The pier itself was not overly long, but it had been an attraction from its day of opening, a certain charm in design had made it even more appealing and it offered interesting vantage points for dramatic sunsets and rises alike as well as housing a small theatre and Salty Sally's Café at its far end (with its bright red metallic lettering ending with an embossed metal image of the buxom smiling lass) and this is where our story lives.

We will not be troubled by the pillars and awnings that offer light protection from above, nor the stanchions that have supported such weight through the seasons and often have been disregarded by the comers, neither shall we talk to the myriad of curved metal and wooden benches that have offered comfort and rest and listened to all that had been said. Instead, we take a small stroll, behind the theatre, to the last walkway that looks out onto the vastness of the waters itself. For there, sitting with its the back to the building, looking out across the last few boards of the pier and railings, stands the wooden and glass kiosk that hold the mechanical upper half of Jolly Jack, the laughing sailor.

He sits, ever ready for coinage to be deposited and when activated, his torso and head will roll with laughter coming from the antiquated speakers, as his eyes, fixed with eerie merriment and beaming mouth, with bright red lips that never seem to fade having always been enclosed in his protective case away from the elements, though his arms, never moving, give him the support that all his jollity needs.

He has sat there entertaining guests, young and old alike, for almost 100 years staring out at the wide-open watery space, yet few would consider his age, instead they would deposit their money and wait to be amused. Some would smile or laugh, some may well be repulsed and some, normally the youngest and most innocent would cry and become frightened of this careering spectacle.

But regardless of all the visits and days that had passed, Jack would be left alone, alone to stare with empty eyes, either with head tilted back looking up into the depths of the sky or out across the waters or eyes down to watch the feet of passing strangers. On the very rare occasion, when his head was tilted to his far-right side, reflected in his glass he could see the smiling, welcoming face who brought warmth into his cold and hard mechanisms.

If he could have, he would have often thought of the friendly smile and wonder whether she knew of his existence just feet away and if she did, were her feelings for him the same as his for hers?

He could only dream, but he was glad that they now shared the same view, at least they could share that.

He had not always been located at the remotest part of the pier...