The day started as grey and unpromising as february. Rubbish bags sat forlornly at the curb, waiting for refuse collectors to scoop them from under the seagulls greedy beaks. Birds shuffled noisily on the roof tiles as I brushed my teeth, plaintive cries aching across a street slick with rain.
Fortified with ginger tea, I got on with the business of the day until three o'clock rolled round and it was time to head out and collect Finn.
Somewhere between brushing my teeth and easing digits on my bike lock, the day had blossomed into a shiny thing. Fresh, lightly mist laden breeze, played agreeably across my cheeks as I sped towards school.
We agreed on a beach picnic, so while Nick and Finn went to a swimming lesson at the local pool, I picked up a few bits and pieces and threw together a watercress and chicken stock soup; feta, mint and romaine lettuce salad, coleslaw, crudités and some cold sliced meat. Of course, almost anything eaten with warm pebbles under your feet, tastes fabulous!
After our meal we squinted into the setting sun and ran about after a fluffy ball with velcro pads on our hands. Giggling heartily each time the ball stuck on the pads, we glanced over at the group of old ladies drinking tea around a tartan clothed table (as though they had been transported unknowingly from a WI meeting to the beach) in case we were enjoying ourselves too enthusiastically.
They merely saluted us with another tea soaked, buttery shortbread and bid us carry on with the fun.
So we did - until it was time to pack up and head home to tuck a weary Finley into bed.
'How lucky we are!' said I to Nick, who just shrugged and nodded his head. Because what more can you say when such richness is laid before you?
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