Friday, 21 September 2007

weekend away

We’d had our eye on the weather reports all week and it seemed as if we’d just catch the last weekend of the summer. Really, officially, it was Autumn, but prediction said that the sunshine would show itself, rebelliously, for one weekend longer than it should.

We’d packed our swim suits with this in mind, but when we got to the coast, seas mists obscured the sun and although the sky was clear and bright, the wind rolling in from the shore took the edge from heat that we craved and that would warrant stripping off and running for the water.

But still; the bright plastic buckets and spades and windbreakers and candyfloss and colourful seaside tat uplifted us from our city malaise. We laid back into our weekend away, our lungs full of fresh air; our nostrils tantalised by the smell of vinegar and fish and chip paper.

We had sand in our shoes and we’d been hypnotised by the sound of the waves as we’d stared out to sea. We’d sailed the same waves and seen the sea birds coasting the water farther away from the shore than a swimmer safely could. We’d conquered the length of beach twice over, exploring its rocks and its driftwood, toying with its tiny beads of stone and glass and brick tumbled and smoothed in the salt and grit.

And then, almost as it was just about time to go home, the mists cleared and the sun pounded down on us. Emerging from towel cocoons, we transformed hurriedly into our swimwear. Armed with books, newspapers and lotions, shades, and sunhats we trotted to the beach apace with other keen family holiday makers and weekend awayers like ourselves. And as we angled ourselves in our stripy deckchairs with sighs of relief and relaxation, as our faces raised to the sky to catch those last precious rays of the summer……..the sun passed behind a cloud once again, and remained there for the rest of the day.


Anonymous said...

Not Skegness?
Please God no!
The nature of the Great Britain beast - weather is a paradise for women and an hell for horses.

Northern Creative said...

Noooooo! it was Whitby. Lovely place. why is weather a paradise for women and a hell for horses?

Anonymous said...

Perhaps the dampness and Cockney accent are good for the female complexion but an 'ard 'ell on the 'orse's 'ooves.

"England is the paradise of women, the purgatory of men, and the hell of horses."
[1591 J. Florio Second Fruits 205]

Whitby, Ontario, Canada is anything but lovely.

Northern Creative said...

Have a look at Whitby, North Yorkshire here :

Thanks for the J. Florio insight. How do you know this stuff?

Anonymous said...

I knew about the quote but I had to research its origins.
I tend to absorb all manner of trivial facts and figures. I am quite the bore at cocktail parties.

Thanks for the link. The beach looks rather deserted - must be a football game on the telly. Or perhaps Jamie Oliver is being executed - death by turkey twizzler.

Lapa said...





He has, also, translated into Portuguese the Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith.

He has been awarded several prizes.

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Thanks for visiting.

Anonymous said...

He has, also, translated into Portuguese the Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith.

I wonder how the phrase "The Invisible Hand" is translated? I'll ask my brother-in-law, he's a Pork from Porto.

flats said...

A hell for horses??? why mate? i dont understand... But have fun anyway! cheers