I am with cold, ladies. In summer, can you believe?!
My cold was kindly gifted to me by The Photographer a few days ago. To be fair I have a much weaker version of it, but that's our little secret - please don't let on to TP as he's waiting on me today with hot soups and coffees ... and I'm milking it for all I can get!
So please take this is an apologetic sick note as I was not in attendance on your screens yesterday but please let me make it up to you today with some fine beach shots.
I'm looking back to better days, last Sunday to be precise, when I went for a beach walk around a cute little fishing port called Portelet which is just down the coast from where I live. I came here with you back in January, it's much nicer in August.
The day wasn't quite warm enough for swimming and beach frolicking. But it was the next day so I took the GKs down there for a fun day of splashing and swimming and sandcastle building whilst TP huddled up in bed with his bad cold.
And yes, an ice cream from this well-stocked beach kiosk just may have passed my lips :-).
It's definitely a proper working port. Saltwater-rusted tractors lay idle, on call to tug the fishing boats to and from the water. Fishy smells linger - where's smellivision when you need it?!
I found a less pungent place to sit and reflect
These were the homes of the lighthouse men, BITD; the lighthouse is all hands-off digital now.
Because it's a working port, it's a quiet beach at the weekends. Peaceful.
And for this little stroll I wore a open-shoulder top from Peacocks.
The white crops are also from Peacocks. They're getting rather baggy now. The elastane has been and gone.
Of course I had to carry the flatties like a handbag during my beach stroll.
Life's lesson learned, I wore Birkies or my beach trip the next day which are totally saltwater-friendly.
Behind me is a propeller remaining from a Flying Fortress, brought down in the bay with its crew in 1944.
On a brighter note, this is the beach house the GKs decided I should buy.
And here's the old fishermen's hut I could just about afford!
So, feeling poorly as I wrote this post put me in mind of the scene in You've Got Mail, where Meg Ryan with dreadful sniffles is on a tissue-strewn bed, tapping away real-time to Tom Hanks on her laptop. I couldn't find a snippet of that, so here's the next best thing ...
A la perchoine.