I have a dirty secret to tell you: I hate the beach. The sand gets in the sunblock, the sarnies and, worst of all, my gussetry. It’s like being expected to frolic on a cheese grater. Thing is, as the mother of six year old Kraken Junior and the owner of a clifftop caravan with Conjugal Kraken, the beach is where we always end up. So while CK and KJ scamper through the waves and erect towering sandcastles, I sit stiffly on a towel while checking my watch and wishing for concrete. This time around, though, I felt inspiration rather than irritation (except where my gusset was concerned) and for that I cling with relief to my buttons. Go on, spot the nautical theme:
While broiling in the sun I remembered the orange palm trees, shiny anchors, pearlescent shells, driftwood finishes, tropical blues, golden seahorses and even a rather random, yellow boat propeller. Question is whether this made my beach-based activities a little more enjoyable. The answer? Hell, no, because from there on in I was willing to hitch-hike all the way home just to get back to my sewing shed. I’d have even waved down a passing lifeboat if I’d seen one, holding the crew hostage with a half-eaten strawberry Mivvi. So the next time you see me on the beach I won’t be fumbling with a bucket or a spade but a needle and thread. Perhaps there is a relaxing way to pass the time on holidays after all.