The long moan of the foghorn is a welcome noise for me, I have always enjoyed listening to it. I don't mind the fog. I like the darkness it provides, the warmth you feel when you look out of the window, of your warm house, into the thick soupy day.
Around about 11am the sun broke through. The dampness that has been hanging around, began to rise. A thick steam rose from our fence, our grass, the field at the end of our street.
And there were blue skies all around
K has been asking to go to the beach, for weeks. She can't wait to paddle in the sea, build sandcastles and wiggle her toes in the warm sand.
On the walk to Nursery, we made tentative plans to visit the beach after nursery. If it was still nice.
I assured her that even if we made it to the beach, it would be welly weather. No bare toes.
Our luck was in!
Just beyond the harbour wall, the waves were breaking high. The tide was coming in , and it was in a hurry.
But that wall was doing it's job well. We were sheltered, warm and in a little haven.
Ah well, what would the beach be without some bare toes...
Thank you Mr sun, for shining so bright.
And now the fog has rolled back in, full circle.
It is lovely and warm in the house, looking out on the thick soupy evening.
There is not one room in my house that could be called tidy. I didn't know where to start cleaning it, so I didn't.
I prepared our dinner , emptied all of the gross stuff out of my fridge and called it good.
I headed to the beach, with no regrets and my good friend Sonja's words ringing in my ears.
When I am (hopefully)old and on my deathbed, I will never look back and wish I had done more housework.
I will never wish to have spent less time playing with my children.
I will hopefully remember one glorious March afternoon where my little girl and I had the whole beach to ourselves and we had fun. We collected treasure, ate a makeshift picnic and had bare toes, in March.
