If you want to write, it turns out you have to live at the same time. And if you decide to make a go at living, in turns out you need a lot of people to help you along the way. As such, my list of thanks would probably stretch as long as this book – longer even. But for now, here’s an abbreviated version, which I have made roughly chronological for the sake of ease.
Thank you to my mother, Zelah, for each wet and windy walk we’ve taken across Lelant beach together. Thank you to my father, Francis, for helping me through every crisis of confidence – and there were many – with tremendous patience. To my brothers, Georges and Simon. To Nick and Sara Williams for opening up their home to me and being my ballasts on the north coast. To my friends, including, but not restricted to: old friends, new friends, school friends, university friends, friends I’ve lived with, worked with, danced with, kissed, pined after, lost and laughed with; it is you who have shaped these first few, unsteady years of adulthood, and so, in a way, have shaped this book too.
Thank you to those at TLS for giving me the opportunity to write in their paper – I learnt so much from you all. I am eternally grateful to my editor Michael Fishwick for taking a chance on an unknown quantity and for supporting me every shaky step of the way. Thank you to Lilidh, Lauren, Emma and everyone else at Bloomsbury. Thank you to my brilliant agent, Cathryn Summerhayes. Thank you to my copy-editor Kate Johnson, whose thoughtful, discerning edits transformed this book and whose every phone call I look forward to immensely.
Thank you to the town of Newlyn for letting me stay a little while. Thank you to every fisherman and individual involved in the fishing industry who took the time to give me an insight into their livelihoods – Nathan, Andy, Cod, Roger, David, James, Danny, Kyle, Andrew, Stevie, Freddie, Nick, Mike and Rose, Harry, Simon, Larry, Nicky, Shane, Rob, Nocte, Mad Dick, Alan, Ben Gunn, Tony, Chris, Lucy, Elizabeth, among others. To every member of the community who made me howl with laughter in the pub and showed me it is possible to love your neighbours fiercely. Thank you to Isaac – the conversations we had about home, about identity, became the bedrock of this book. To Don, for providing Dark, Salt, Clear with its hero and for being the best skipper in the southwest. To Lofty and Denise, for whom there do not exist words enough to say thank you properly: it meant everything living with you those months. Denise, Newlyn’s Dancing Queen, I will never forget you.