1.  I Can See You

2.  Pub Crawl

3.  Sand Dunes

So if Margaret Thatcher got by on three hours sleep a night, why wasn’t she permanently ratty or cold-ridden.  The Big City on Tuesday, 400+ miles round trip, 15 hour day including 8 hours driving.  Round a Wednesday Friend’s house last night; the carriage returned here well after midnight.  I was in with Son 2 aged 18m.  Now the mornings are light, he can see me lying in the double bed.  It doesn’t matter how still I am, how quiet I keep. When he wakes up, I get up.

We drove over to the Sandy Beach. Played Pooh Sticks on the bridge.  Got the tent up.  Sunny, but with a bitter wind, and a cold mist rolling in and out from the sea.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m was not on good form.  Not enough Mummy Time apparently.  He played in the sand in his sun suit. I could see from how he was standing that he was frozen, but left it to him to tell me he wanted more clothes.  In my defence, he’d said “no” to every single thing I’d suggested all day long. He pitter-pattered off the sand towards a beachside pub.  “I’m cold. I’m going in that warm cafe.”  I got his parkha on him, and followed him, asking him to come back so he could get dressed.  An out-of-season, barely-open, dim and dark beach bar.  But.  On the plus side.  Loos.  Coffee machines. And a sign saying children mustn’t be left alone on the play equipment.  There wasn’t any play equipment.  But maybe there is in the summer. 

By late afternoon I’d managed to work out that he wanted me, me, me.  So, still carrying Son 2 who was refusing to be put down, I suggested we explored the sand dunes.  “What’s a sand dune?” “You know, like the Crocodile Hunter. ‘Rolling down the sand dunes…’”  Son 1 loved the Sand Hills.  The grass was very scratchy, but he loved climbing through the fenced wire, he loved the little tracks, he loved going up and down.  He rolled, he scrambled, he scrabbled, he climbed. He Could See For Miles.  He wanted to poke in the remnants of illegal campfires. “Please be careful!  There are lots of sharp and dangerous things in sand dunes!” On the way back he told me he’d found treasure and wanted to take it home. ”It’s Not Sharp Or Dangerous.”  It was a brilliant blue hard plastic crescent.  A decorative bead from a bag perhaps.  On the way back Son 1 thumped Son 2 so hard in the back he fell flat on his face in the sand.  And I let him off, because he said he didn’t mean to be so rough, and he didn’t realise Son 2 would fall over.  Then he went and played in the tidal stream in his new flashing trainers.  And after that, there was No Ice Cream.