Philogrobolised on Gwenver

After an excellent dinner and fine wines with neighbour and top fellow Mark from The Old Dairy I slept late then woke to a rare frost.

Polly and I staggered over to Escalls Cliff to soak up the wonders of the view, then down onto Gwenver Beach where I lay down to take this photo of the dog.

Finding the recumbent pose so much more comfortable I pulled my hood up to protect my delicate bonce from the sand. Now fully laid out I pondered how the moderate hangover, the type that merely restricts your vigour rather than utterly incapacitating, can be a delight if allowed its course.

 

Absorbing the sounds, the sea, the birds, and the lovely noise that sand makes which you only hear with your ear to it, I quickly dozed off into one of those beautiful outdoor snoozes.

Anyone who knows Polly will know that beach means ball. I imagine her having a quick mooch around the rock pools that would keep a child entertained for hours, but quickly tiring of that. Soon, far too soon, she was nudging her ball at my head, whining gently and dripping salty sandy water onto my face. Can this be love?

 I only have one thing to write today, shouldn’t take more than an hour, but oh how inviting the sofa in New Forge looks right now.

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