As an islander I live surrounded by water. A stream runs along the end of my garden. A canal runs through the village up to the next settlement where there’s a lake, a dam and underground water channels. The historic docks are a bus ride away.
And yet in my grumpiest grinchiest moments I’m not satisfied. It’s the wrong sort of water. Doesn’t move fast enough. Too man made. I need rivers, waterfalls and oceans. In this rainy part of the country we even complain about water (a lot) which would seem odd in some parts of the world.
I’m resisting writing something trite about being blessed to have enough of the stuff to live. We take it for granted and it’s disingenuous to say otherwise.
In case my life sounds too idyllic I should say that the stream at the back of the garden used to be a sewage channel. It’s that kind of history that keeps us northerners grounded.
The sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness.