And breathe . . .
We needed to get out of the house this morning: I had a call from my mother in Portugal telling me that she didn't want any helpers coming to the house. This was after a couple of weeks of persuasion as her regular visitor can do only so much.
I was impatient, unfairly so as my mother has some sort of dementia. Then I got a call later to say what a wonderful person the visitor had been, so helpful.
But the beach at Burton Bradstock was delightful, as always, with foaming breakers and excellent colours and visibility.
Mrs B, pictured, used to walk this beach with her late father when they stayed at the nearby Cliff Hotel, as was. The first walk used to be before breakfast, of course.