Ploughtering

I don't know that I've ever written that word before, and I'm not sure if I'm alone in spelling it thus, but you know what I mean - it's what my grandsons are doing in this photo and how they spent a joyous afternoon on a most unpromising day.

I'm glad they enjoyed the age-old pursuits of sea and shore - we fretted that there was no football ground available that wasn't waterlogged or covered in dog mess, but the truth is that this kind of freedom is so precious that it wins every time. The fine silt left by the receding tide covered clothes and shoes, and there were moments when we thought James would hurl himself into the sea instead of some massive stone, but this was ploughtering at its best.