Sea stories

All the winds had died down and it was a quiet night. After realising the man shouting at me was merely offering nectarines and bananas from his van, I was relieved to avoid a dispute. Leaving the boys to do their thing, M and I walked round the bay to the South, out onto the spit that seems to be made mainly of volcanic ash and shale that crackles and clatters as you walk over it. Nothing but yellow lichens and washed up sea urchins. That is except for the detritus that has sadly gathered over the years. I have undertaken a little campaign to clear plastics discretely from our bit of the beach, but there is a hell of a lot of muck.

By mid afternoon, the water was glassy and clear as crystal. The boys lost the mask, but found it again, way out from the shore, and promptly lost the goggles. We have new neighbours on both sides with an interesting mix of countries around us. I was glad to finally make inroads into another book. (Shackleton is still stranded 'South' on an ice floe and I am loving rereading the details of the Endeavour expedition, but visualising bergs and Adele penguins for dinner sometimes gets a bit tough in the Med.) I feel I am a castaway on an island in the 40's. Remnants of so many decades are still evident, apart from the plastic.

This boat had been repainted so many times, most of them very jolly, it must have had happy stories to tell. All good and making a few more happy memories.