Most people flock to the Cornish coast when the sun shines, but I prefer it on colder days, when mist blankets the cliffs, the sea fades from turquoise to silvery grey, and the beaches take on an eerie, otherworldly air. It was on one such day that my husband and I found ourselves on the vast sweep of Sennen Cove in Cornwall’s far west, cameras in hand and coats buttoned tightly against the chill. We had the sand almost entirely to ourselves, save for a couple of lone dog walkers, the ever-watchful lifeguards of the RNLI, and the occasional surfer venturing hesitantly out into the waves. Fog obscured both the village behind us and the horizon in front, marooning us from the world at large and muffling the sounds of life on land. We lingered on the beach for hours, watching the ocean crash relentlessly onto the shore, savouring the cool damp air and listening to seagulls wailing mournfully overhead. Eventually the light started to fade, and we wound our way back up the coastal road towards reality. As we drove, the beach vanished into the mist beneath us, like a dream that had already slipped from our grasp.