I'm always searching for the beach.

How tempting and beautiful a thought is it, of the possibility of creating a something, something which has significance to someone - or you alone - and then locking this away forever, with the haunting hope that it will never come to light again.

It would be locked away in a hiding place, a filing cabinet at the bottom of the universe, on a long distant planet, under undisturbed soil, in a locked box, in crypted code, which has no chance of seeing the light of day again.

And how temping is it that someone somewhere has done this already, and lying under the floorboards of an abandoned warehouse, written on the side of a coin in minute felt-tip pen, is the most beautiful piece of poetry ever written.