Old Post Office, Mug by Ann Vastano

Some buildings wear their history proudly, and this seaside post office is no exception. White walls trimmed in bold terracotta frame tiny sash windows that once saw telegram boys sprinting off with urgent news. Now, lobster creels stacked in jaunty pyramids wait for tomorrow’s tide, and a rowing dinghy lounges in tall grasses like a retired guard dog enjoying the sun. Slate roofs glimmer with hints of sea spray, their mossy ridges painted in gentle bottle‑greens and lilacs. A neighbour’s cottage peeks coyly from behind, its gable chimneys puffing invisible smoke you can almost smell—peat, salt and maybe something sweet cooling on the sill. In the foreground, dense shrubbery rendered in thick, lively marks suggests hidden blackbird nests and rustling hedgehogs. The whole setting speaks of weathered reliability mixed with quiet reinvention: the postmaster long gone, but the heart of the place still beating to the rhythm of tides and neighbourly chats over picket fences.#