A second night on the Dorset coast with my good friend Jeroen, and this time the destination was Lulworth Cove itself, the near-perfect horseshoe bay just around the headland from Durdle Door, carved out by the same restless sea that punched a hole through the arch next door. It's one of the most geologically famous coves in the country, a textbook example of differential erosion, where a narrow gap in the tougher limestone let the sea in to hollow out the softer rock behind, and the result is that almost impossibly neat, rounded bay shape.

We scouted the area as soon as we arrived, and the composition we both wanted was obvious almost immediately: a clifftop vantage point that all but demanded a selfie, the kind of spot where you can't help but want yourself in the frame, dwarfed by the scale of the coastline and the sky opening up above it.

What we couldn't get was the shot we'd actually hoped for. A proper overview looking down into the cove itself, the full sweep of that famous horseshoe under a starlit sky, simply wasn't available to us. The cliffs here are actively crumbling, part of the same ongoing erosion that carved the cove in the first place, and getting close enough to the edge for that view would have meant taking a risk neither of us was willing to take. It's a reminder that this whole stretch of coast is still very much a work in progress, shaped over millions of years and still shifting now, sometimes in ways that simply close a shot off to you no matter how much you want it.

So we worked with what the land was willing to give us instead, and came away with a night that, once again, was as much about the company and the clifftop conversation as it was about anything we managed to capture through a lens.