On a small stretch of sand between the train line and the estuary, six people lie face down on yoga mats, wiggling their legs in the air. Their instructor calls the pose “the stranded fish”. The gulls and oystercatchers circling above them seem unconvinced. It’s 10am and the only other people on the beach are families, like us, with very young children – and who’ve been awake for ever. We recognise each others’ hollow eyes and raise our coffee cups in silent communion.
