A while ago, I blogged about expat brats and how to spot the clues, two of which were only thinking it’s a nice day if it’s tropical outside and not considering the British seaside to be a beach-worthy place.
Well, I’m happy to report that my sons don’t fall into these categories. It’s borderline in eldest son’s case for the first category – he’s turned a bluish colour a few times this holiday – but, on the whole, they love the great British seaside, as do I.
There’s just something about beaches here that makes me really happy. I’m not sure whether it’s the bleak weather, blustery wind, stony terrain, seaweed, rip-off merchant ice cream sellers or the fact you need to wear a jumper, a fleece and the beach rug to keep warm, but whatever it is, it works for me. Maybe it’s the sea, with its crashing rollers and white frothy surf. Or maybe it’s because the boys can run free, while I sit in peace.
Today, at Black Rock Sands, everything was perfect. The weather was challenging, the sand actually looked black a little deeper down, the seaweed was stringy and the ice cream man laughed at me when I tried to pay for a ’99’ cone with a pound coin. There were even tractors chugging down the beach and into the sea tugging jet skis.
I wasn’t even jealous when I finally made contact with DH (who you may have noticed has been suspiciously absent on this trip) in Florida!
When it started raining, we had to bail and go somewhere more sensible – a ruined castle on a steep hill with precarious ledges for the kids to hang off (!), but, we were on such a roll, we visited a different beach later to clamber over rock pools in search of crabs.
The lovely day was rounded off with some great pub grub (another thing I love about being home). Lamb shank for my mother – and as we ate, nursing wind burn, she remarked to the boys, “See this, I’m eating one of those Welsh sheep!” Aren’t you supposed to wait until they’re at least eight before telling them that?