I went home for the funeral of Keith Colquhoun, my girlfriend Jessie's Father. I arrived back in Liverpool yesterday, with a throbbing headache and an unshakable sadness. Funerals are cathartic, but that sense of relief doesn't last for long.

Before I got my train (actually, I missed my train by about 30 seconds, which meant that I had to wait at Liverpool Lime Street for an hour, staring at the giant electronic billboard across the street), we went down to Crosby beach to see Another Place by Antony Gormley.

The piece consists of 100 cast iron figures, spread over two miles of coastline. They face out to sea, and, as per usual with Gormley, are cast from the artists body.

They were meant to go to New York in November 2006, but after a petition by local people and Another Body Place Ltd, a charitable body set up to campaign to keep the iron men on the beach, they were granted a reprieve and will now be permanently posted at Crosby.

I can't find much info on Another Body Place Ltd. Perhaps that might warrant some extra research in to exactly who set up the lobbying body, what funding was needed, and where it came from. Antony Gormley certainly benefited financially from Crosby keeping hold of the statues.

Crosby is pretty bleak. It was so windy that our mile long walk along the beach completely knackered me. Richard took his shoes off and almost instantly his feet were covered in a thick, black sludge. You could see the edge of Liverpool's industry, towards the south, and wind farms out to sea.

You could also see these, which I thought were much nicer than Gormley's men.

Maybe there should be100 of those.

I'd heard that the men closest to the shore had smooth heads and smooth penises, from where visitors rub the statues.

I like the idea that this could become the function of the men. Good luck talismans for a post-industrial mythology. Maybe in a post-cultural landscape, this could become their meaning. For now they are unmistakably linked to Gormley. A large sign at the entrance to the beach explains exactly how they came to be here, and what the artist was thinking when he proposed the idea.

As the tide comes in and out, the figures are submerged at various heights. It is both affecting, and also slightly absurd. People sometimes dress the figures up - one iron man we saw had gold underwear spray painted on him.

This is a jelly fish we found on the sand. Andy is poking it with a stick. This is the colour and feel of the British coastline: rubbish, dead jelly fish, mackintoshes, dog walkers, wind. The iron men fit in somehow. I'm not a fan of Gormley as an artist, but maybe public art requires a different sort of language. His work is certainly basic enough to acquire meaning without too much trouble. You can ignore it or place it within the landscape without having to modify what you are looking at.

Hamish Mclain mounted a man halfway down the beach. He didn't look too comfortable.

This is the local swimming pool as seen from the beach. It looks like a space craft. Maybe they could convert it in to a UFO museum if tourism picks up as much they hope it will.

This is the Lee Shan Kung Fu Club, as seen on the way up from the beach to the town. You can't quite make it out on the picture, but he teaches many styles. Impressive.

When I was finally on the platform for my train, (after a good breakfast, a missed train and an hours wait) I saw a glove on the roof of the station.

I suppose it got there from someone working on the roof. It's funny how the trace of something we recognise as human always intrigues us.