Midsummer idlers

I have run out of day.

This is a shockingly disorganised thing to have done, because of course today is the longest day that we have. It is the Midsummer Solstice.

I should have written to you much earlier, but I didn’t, and now it is one o’clock in the morning.

I am writing this whilst Mark is in the shower. I am going to stop as soon as he gets out.

We are having the loveliest summer. We are back home now, because tragically we have got to get up early tomorrow. This is because Mark has got to go to work. Hence the dawdling and the idling has had to stop, we have been obliged to dash home, and I am contentedly settled in our own bed.

It has been brilliant. We spent all day loitering about on the beach at Ulverston. This was wonderful. We walked for miles and miles along the warm, damp sand, barefoot and contented in the sunshine. The tide came in and we paddled a bit, and the water was so warm it was not shocking at all. Scotland is not like that. You have always got to be a bit stoic to go in the sea up there.

This wasn’t, though. This was warm and welcoming and gentle. A soft breeze tugged at my dress and ruffled the trees, and we ambled along not worrying about anything much. This is splendid when you can do it.

It was very quiet. We talked to a couple of people who thought we would be friendly because of having a painted camper van. People always think this, I do not understand why. Apart from that we were entirely peaceful. The dogs dashed along the sand in the greatest of excitement, rolling in seagull poo and diving into all the muddy bits, barking their heads off until we yelled at them to shut up. They are exhausted now. They staggered up the stairs to their basket and practically passed into instant unconsciousness.

We ate massive sausage sandwiches for lunch, and instantly fell asleep.

When we woke up we had another walk. Ulverston beach has a little river running across it which you have to cross to get to the sea. Its banks are muddy and steep, you have got to slide and scramble, which was a bit of an adventure. There is no nicer feeling than bare feet on sand, and no worse feeling than bare feet on sandy mud. I recall loathing it as a child when once we had a family holiday to Southport, and was mildly surprised to discover that I loathe it just as much now.

I am braver about it now. I seem to remember that I whinged about it almost non-stop fifty years ago. Today I contented myself with a brief gasp of distaste and just put up with it until we reached the sand again. It was still horrid, though. It squishes between your toes.

Of course we could not carry on loafing on a beach for ever. In the end we had to set off home, but we offered ourselves the consolation of calling in on Elspeth on the way back. This was only supposed to be for a cup of tea and a brief nod of hello, but of course it turned into several bottles of wine and a great deal of gassing. Elspeth has built a drinking shed in her garden, so we sat in it and drank to celebrate the midsummer.

I have had a very nice midsummer indeed. I am brown and exhausted.

I have washed the mud off in the shower. Mark is just finishing his.

It is bedtime.