Well, here in the Independent Republic of...., it's been a bit of a wash out, wind, rain, thunder and lightening. Too erratic for me to haul on my vacuum-packed beach shoes, but I know a group who would have been on the beach at the first glimpse of sunshine. The real Beachies; our Home Guard of stout men and women, 60+, tanned and armed with tightly rolled up towels tucked under their arms. Not for them the namby-pamby beach shoe, no, they hobble down to the water and don't even gasp as they reach the eye-watering height.
Beachies, I salute you. You are the ones that make Shoreham Beach great, not the summer BBQ's, the foreshore, or the key-swapping parties. It's you, every last one of you.
Now, I've a theory that young childrens' feelings are as strong as adults, and this week there was a eureka moment.
INT. BATHROOM. NIGHT
Bath time. Tom, our four year old, sits in the bath leaning miserably against the tiles. I bustle in and stop dead. Tom looks at me, pulls a glum face and holds up his finger.
Oh dear, have you hurt yourself?
What is it then?
I squint at his finger. Nothing. He points to a solitary human hair dangling off the end.
It's a hair?!
All his friends are down the plug-hole. He's very sad.
You'll have to go and get them.
Erm. When we pull the plug out, he can join them. Right, where's the soap?
No he can't. He's afraid of the dark. You have to go and get them.
Tom crosses his arms and stares at me. I recognise that look. It's called trouble.
Richard! Your turn to do bath time.
Parenting is all about learning. Today's lesson is on how to clean your bath.
And finally, according to the Beach News, the Highways Agency will be re-surfacing the top and bottom roads at almost the same time. It's going to be a scream. Good job we've got extra wide pavements.
Have a happy week and see you next Sunday.