Dog on the beach
They are banned, of course, round here – well until October anyway when we rush down with veritable packs of big hairy hounds and have big dog-themed party.
Consequently, I don’t venture down there much in the summer. Daytrippers, sun, sand… I mean, who wants all that, really?
A friend said to me yesterday, ‘What you need is some fun.’ I said, ‘No, I don’t, I don’t like fun.’ At this rate I won’t have any friends to say such things to me as I slip further and further into an anti-social, incapable of having fun, misery-guts pit, of my own excavation. Actually, I raised a smile when I finished the last sentence, so maybe September and a few classes to teach will come along and save me.
I can’t even claim the credit for this find. I was making two smaller and very nondescript stones have fun on the beach. If you must know, I was pretending they were in a blue disco and dancing. My daughter intervened and said my behaviour was age inappropriate. On the other hand, she had this to show me, and it really was quite something.
We liked it anyway. And I’m glad to have a kid who gets me, if only a fraction. We were looking for someone on the beach. My daughter said, ‘What is she wearing?’ I described the outfit, but I said, ‘I can’t remember the colour of her dress, it’s either pink or blue.’
‘Purple, then,’ the daughter said.
She was only right.