Worried, George?

I knew there was a reason I don't like football. While kicking a ball around in the back garden, I managed to run into the clothes line - leaving a strange "mark of Zorro" on my nose and forehead.

George was clearly concerned. Andy thought my grazed head needed rubbing with kitchen roll - which felt more like sandpaper. Ouch.

Later, we took Molly for a walk on the beach, where the wind and waves had really moved the sand around, completely changing the landscape. Or should that be sandscape?