Dear Diary, I can honestly write that these few days at the seaside are better than a beach holiday was when I was a child. For some unknown reason the sand flies found me attractive; I wasn't keen on swimming, and I didn't like sand in my swimming togs. I did go out past my knees, but not up to my waist, which I suppose explains the reason I didn't learn to swim. Not that I dislike water; I love a bath or a shower.
I do remember the time I was given a new swimsuit ... looking back to that not-momentous occasion I can see the funny side, but at the time it was highly embarrassing.
We had a family friend who was a seamstress. She owned a holiday home at the beach, just one block from the sand and surf, and the day she invited me to spend a couple of weeks with them, as they say, made my day. There was one drawback. My swimming togs were too small and for a growing girl, almost indecent. She volunteered to make me a pair. I was ecstatic. A week or so later she arrived with the swimsuit, which was a deep rich red. I loved it; easily pictured myself strutting the sand like a movie star. I was about eleven at the time Dear Diary, and girls of eleven years are romantic dreamers.
We travelled to the holiday home, settled in, and the following morning, before the wind came up and the sun grew too hot, we made our way through a narrow path between many houses, to the beach. I dropped my towel on the sand, kicked off my shoes, and ran into the water; hardly caring I didn't swim. The water was beautiful; I wondered if perhaps this would be the summer when I learned to swim. Gentle waves crashed against my ankles; my calves, my knees, and finally the water was actually touching my new red swim wear. I ducked down a little ... so as to not get my hair wet, but to show others that I had been swimming. I must have been; the swim suit was wet! The unexpected happened! The swim suit was made from wool jersey, and with the weight of water it slumped. The crotch touched my knees. My face was as red as the swim wear! I ran from the water, grabbed my towel to cover my decency, and, sorry Dear Diary, I have to admit, a tear or two mingled with the salt water of the ocean. I never wore that swimsuit again, and I never learned to swim.
However, once one reaches a mature age there is no need to go swimming to make a statement.
This morning dawned beautifully, a direct contrast to the drabness of yesterday. Anne had suggested that should we wake to sunshine a long walk to the lighthouse might be in order. I agreed. It is such a shame that people do not live in the lighthouse, nor indeed in the lighthouse keeper's cottage today. Most lights are automated, which is rather boring. As the lighthouse is several kilometres away we packed lunch, carried bottles of water and another bottle of apple cider, just in case we felt like a little sip. Strong footwear was essential ... there were several outcrops of rocks to scramble over.
Setting off at a respectable pace; we had tides to take into account, we wended our way along the shore line, stopping at regular intervals to pick up an unusual shell. I especially liked the fan shaped ones in shades of yellow, and pink, and a pale orange-pink. The varieties of shells washed up amazed me. I gathered the storm of yesterday had swept shells from the deep onto our shores. Soon my little plastic bag that I brought for such treasures was quite full. I intended covering a tall, empty wine bottle with putty and stick the shells on, thus making an effective doorstop.
The rock pools were so fascinating I almost didn't want to leave them and continue towards the lighthouse. Crabs scuttled to hide at our approach, little fish that were deposited in the tidal pools at high tide gave a glint of colour to the water, and the small growth of seaweed reminded me of an underwater film, except this was in full view.
Soon our destination was in sight. Deciding to sit down on an old log, beyond the high tide mark, we devoured our lunch, suddenly hungry from the fresh air. The cider provided a welcome accompaniment to the succulent lunch Anne provided. When did she have time to concoct that quiche? I adore leek and ham quiche, particularly when partaken with a drop of cider. Anne had hidden a secret from me Dear Diary. She hadn't told me there was a rescue farm for birds at the lighthouse. A keeper tending sea animals and birds brought to him by the public had a high recovery success rate. Half a dozen blue lined swimming pools provided a safe haven until the creatures were ready for release into their natural habitat.
The sun was warmer than expected. While we did wear a sunhat and sunglasses I felt my nose burning, and hope that it doesn't peel. Dear Diary, a peeling red nose is best avoided!
I do remember the time I was given a new swimsuit ... looking back to that not-momentous occasion I can see the funny side, but at the time it was highly embarrassing.
We had a family friend who was a seamstress. She owned a holiday home at the beach, just one block from the sand and surf, and the day she invited me to spend a couple of weeks with them, as they say, made my day. There was one drawback. My swimming togs were too small and for a growing girl, almost indecent. She volunteered to make me a pair. I was ecstatic. A week or so later she arrived with the swimsuit, which was a deep rich red. I loved it; easily pictured myself strutting the sand like a movie star. I was about eleven at the time Dear Diary, and girls of eleven years are romantic dreamers.
We travelled to the holiday home, settled in, and the following morning, before the wind came up and the sun grew too hot, we made our way through a narrow path between many houses, to the beach. I dropped my towel on the sand, kicked off my shoes, and ran into the water; hardly caring I didn't swim. The water was beautiful; I wondered if perhaps this would be the summer when I learned to swim. Gentle waves crashed against my ankles; my calves, my knees, and finally the water was actually touching my new red swim wear. I ducked down a little ... so as to not get my hair wet, but to show others that I had been swimming. I must have been; the swim suit was wet! The unexpected happened! The swim suit was made from wool jersey, and with the weight of water it slumped. The crotch touched my knees. My face was as red as the swim wear! I ran from the water, grabbed my towel to cover my decency, and, sorry Dear Diary, I have to admit, a tear or two mingled with the salt water of the ocean. I never wore that swimsuit again, and I never learned to swim.
However, once one reaches a mature age there is no need to go swimming to make a statement.
This morning dawned beautifully, a direct contrast to the drabness of yesterday. Anne had suggested that should we wake to sunshine a long walk to the lighthouse might be in order. I agreed. It is such a shame that people do not live in the lighthouse, nor indeed in the lighthouse keeper's cottage today. Most lights are automated, which is rather boring. As the lighthouse is several kilometres away we packed lunch, carried bottles of water and another bottle of apple cider, just in case we felt like a little sip. Strong footwear was essential ... there were several outcrops of rocks to scramble over.
Setting off at a respectable pace; we had tides to take into account, we wended our way along the shore line, stopping at regular intervals to pick up an unusual shell. I especially liked the fan shaped ones in shades of yellow, and pink, and a pale orange-pink. The varieties of shells washed up amazed me. I gathered the storm of yesterday had swept shells from the deep onto our shores. Soon my little plastic bag that I brought for such treasures was quite full. I intended covering a tall, empty wine bottle with putty and stick the shells on, thus making an effective doorstop.
The rock pools were so fascinating I almost didn't want to leave them and continue towards the lighthouse. Crabs scuttled to hide at our approach, little fish that were deposited in the tidal pools at high tide gave a glint of colour to the water, and the small growth of seaweed reminded me of an underwater film, except this was in full view.
Soon our destination was in sight. Deciding to sit down on an old log, beyond the high tide mark, we devoured our lunch, suddenly hungry from the fresh air. The cider provided a welcome accompaniment to the succulent lunch Anne provided. When did she have time to concoct that quiche? I adore leek and ham quiche, particularly when partaken with a drop of cider. Anne had hidden a secret from me Dear Diary. She hadn't told me there was a rescue farm for birds at the lighthouse. A keeper tending sea animals and birds brought to him by the public had a high recovery success rate. Half a dozen blue lined swimming pools provided a safe haven until the creatures were ready for release into their natural habitat.
The sun was warmer than expected. While we did wear a sunhat and sunglasses I felt my nose burning, and hope that it doesn't peel. Dear Diary, a peeling red nose is best avoided!
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