Our beach from on high.

We met a group of twenty or so on a guided walking tour on the beach (they were on route to Blackness). The dog introduced us. They remarked upon the abundance of large oyster shells (some are more than a thousand years old). I gave them five minutes on the history of the oyster fishery that was there from the thirteenth centaury and how important it was for feeding the growing population. For the great unwashed back in the day a staple diet was oysters and Claret. Changed days. The oyster bed died out through a combination of over fishing and rising pollution. My audience were rapt I tell you. 

So I went on to give them the history of the Bo,ness potteries (1750 - 1958)and how the beach was strewn with kiln waste. One of the party bent down and pulled a nice patterned shard from the sand to add veracity to my ramblings. There were Ooohs and Aaaahs from the group. A further five minutes more they endured my now slick presentation on the life and grisly end of Colonel Gardener, a local pillar of the town (killed in the Battle of Preston Pans in 1745.) his ruined house  was just a few yards from where we stood, barely visible in the woods.

We bade them farewell. I have never actually bored any one to death but there have been a few close calls. I apologised to their guide for stealing her audience.