By Red

Whitesands rocks

The day was cold but bright, so Matt, George and I took Stella to Whitesands for a run about. 

The only sign of storminess was the wind that kept whipping up the sand in cool-looking flurries. By the water's edge, we wondered if it was this that had sculpted the wet sand into strange bumpy patterns which we'd never seen before.

As we were about to leave the beach, Stella was looking for one last throw of the ball. Stupidly, I decided to back-heel it. This caused her to charge right into me, knocking me off my feet. 

How I laughed. Once I realised I hadn't landed on the poo-bag I was carrying. 

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