The hunter gatheres return

No,, my conversion to Islam has yet to happen and there are no curious gods to worship here by falling on one's knees on the beach. This is me - sadly with an ever increasing albeit tanned bald patch - engaged in the ancient Hebridean art of harvesting Razor Fish, or what are called Razor Shells down south.
Firstly you need a decent low tide as the little things only live on the shore at the lowest edge of the tidal range. The trick is to spot the relevant sort of hole in the sand and push one's fingers through the sand towards it. If the Razor Fish is foolish enough not to have dived down to the depths of its tunnel then there is a chance that by pushing it against the sand on the other side of its tunnel you might just have trapped it. The battle is not over however as you still have to extract it before it decides to jettison its shell. All in all a decent sport in which the prey has many advantages. We managed to catch about twenty and look forward to eating them after they have been cleansed of sand.
Having got used to empty Hebridean beaches, it is a tribute to Razor Fish, or their edibility, that there were five other hunter gatherers doing the same as us on the particular beach we were on - and on a Sunday too.
A quiet day otherwise with a decent cooked breakfast on the neighbour's terrace and a barbecue on ours before the weekly Poldark fix.