A tired Thursday, rendered slightly less irritating
and long by the text from my wife saying we’d been invited to a big beach party
on Sunday. Not always something that
would fill me with uncontrollable excitement, but it’s organised by a lovely
couple that I’m fond of, who happen to own a ridiculously expensive beach hut
at a rather delightful beach, where the sand is flat and therefore easy to
navigate, and where the waves roll such that even an uncoordinated office boy
like myself can look graceful riding a bodyboard.
The close proximity of the beach hut means easy
access to both cold drinks (from the fridge) or hot drinks (from the kettle)
and provides shelter for littler ones like Mathew who might need shelter from
the elements. Everyone will bring their
own picnic, and there’s ample parking on the field next to their house, from
which a short footpath takes you over the dunes to the beach hut. All in all, a
recipe for a truly fine upcoming Sunday.
On a slightly different note (but one still relevant
to something written above) ‘uncoordinated’ is one of those words that never
looks right after I’ve written or typed it. It always looks like it should have
a hyphen in there somewhere, but I’m never sure where, so I always check it,
only to find it doesn’t need one. So I leave it, but it still bothers me,
because it still doesn’t look right.
What a world….
RC 18-7-19
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