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.
I know nature says it’s autumn now. Not because it is cold and wet and dreary (facing facts there are plenty of summer days that fit that description) and the mornings are darker, but because I can’t go out without tripping over squirrels and getting tangled in cobwebs.
The squirrels are driving the dog nuts. The sooner they go into hibernation the better I me and my shoulders will like it. The Brain of Britain could never be a squirrel though could it, or indeed the div brain that is the dog? That award goes to this rather magnificently enormous spider (read no further if you are phobic) that has spun a marvellous web above my compost bin.
When I take the lid off the bin, the little fruit-type flies that live in the rotting material, that aspires to be compost, fly up and out and straight into the artful arachnid’s web. Such forward planning would come in handy for any of us. I haven’t been out there today, I just hope it has a brolly.