Life's a beach ...

After my going on about doing stuff yesterday, today began positively slothfully with sleeping late despite the sun doing its best to shine in my firmly shut eyes. By the time I'd washed a bathroom-full of towels and hung them out, it was more or less coffee-time, though I put that off by reading the Scotsman online for a bit. (I'm enjoying the paper's robust even-handedness, I must say - not so much in the letters department, but in its range of comment pieces.)

In the late morning I began to think of renewing my own passport, just in case we get going on that long-booked Italian trip, but by the time I'd turned the study upside down looking for a possible passport photo (there's only one left, sadly) I realised the chemist where I got the last one taken would be closed for lunch. Reader, I washed the bathroom floor instead. Don't let me ever be seduced by mosaic-style vinyl tiles again; the whorls are a beast to clean and by the time I'd finished, happily remembering to wash myself out of the door, my knees were screaming gently.

Lunch in the garden again, lounging about in the sun, reading the paper, chatting on FaceTime to my younger granddaughter, (the expired passport one) somehow lasted till almost 4pm, when we decided to go to Toward again because there didn't look to be any clouds at all. There was, however, quite a breeze from the south which deterred me from paddling, let alone bathing. Instead I enjoyed pottering about on the wet sand of low tide, admiring the seaweed in my blip. When I was a child we used to play hospitals on the beach, creating beds out of the sand, and we loved to use that kind of soft trailing seaweed for poultices ... I can still feel the sensation of the sand hoppers that came with it.

Sat up watching the football. Had I been alone I'd have turned off the sound - what an inane and irritating commentary! But now ... I have to go shopping in the morning. Night night.