Wed 18th, Nov, 2009
The other week I found myself on a beach I don’t usually go to, due to training schedules of one of myrats, I mean most-gorgeous-kids-ever.
It was not, by any stretch of the imagination a nice evening but seasoned cold-beach-goer I am from my former life in the Old Country I had with me a big toasty old sweater.
It was bracing and beautiful and so I went for a solitary walk along the shoreline while they trained and spent most of it bending down and picking up the most tiny, most perfectly formed delicate little shells…before long I had a pocket full of them.
So tiny that I didn’t really know what I would do with them, but perfect for scattering on a table…more of which I’ll show you tomorrow…
Though I really don’t need to re-iterate on here how much I love our seachange, this walk reminded me very much of what used to be home and how different my kids’ lives will be to the one Mr BC & I had.
When I was a child, going to the beach was an outing, involving a picnic and lots of gear and we would more often than not end up eating sandwiches in the car, watching a dark grey old sea like this, with the rain lashing down outside, the windscreen wipers going and the steam building up…
We always, always had tea. In a flask or, boiled up with the car door as a windbreaker on one of those little old camping burners and a kettle. It arrived in thick 70′s orange plastic camping cups and tasted of plastic, and was, shock horror, made by the shortcut method – teabags in the cups – ‘cos we didn’t have a pot.
I always remember that tea was bittersweet…not quite tasting the same without a pot…but tea and a Rich Tea by the ocean, wind howling, and everything a bit damp, would always hit the spot…
Funny how walking along here, a whole world away brought those memories flooding back…and I thought about how nice it would be along here with a flask and a cup of tea.