The Seven Stones reef lies a few miles off the Scilly Isles in the channel between Land’s End and the islands. At low tide it’s the last above sea fragment of a line of granite bodies that run the spine of Cornwall down through to the Scilly isles, the channel now sunk perhaps 16,000 perhaps 10,000 years ago as the sea, flooded with ice water, rises. The Scilly were once one island, before that the end of the peninsular.

The folk tales talk of the lost land of Lyonesse, a rich kingdom - her knights brave and shining, her women beautiful, lands rich - like all lost countries - superlative in every way. And lost suddenly in a single night, a local Atlantis. The Seven Stones the last remaining part on view - the site of the largest of it’s a hundred and forty churches.

It’s been raining for days and on the news leaders are flying into Cairo to talk about the rising seas and rising temperature. Outside my studio the ground is sodden wet, the street drains flood, fetid water is washed down sewers into the sea. The roof leaks, nothing dries. It’s easy to imagine a drowning world.