On the beach

Not our beach, but Porty beach, as you can tell by the tyre marks. They get their beach cleaned! We’d been in Tumbles with the daughter who is on leave until1st September when she starts her new job. She brought along small boy and the four of us headed to the beach, while the SK went to get some fish (from a shop). Fush, as it’s pronounced down that way. Blimey, we’re getting plenty pronunciation guides at the moment from MrP. 


Home, and while the minky played I started on the Order of Service thingy using desktop publishing. It’s not included in our selected funeral package thankfully, as I’d much rather create one myself. We have the time – the authorities are being extremely slow.
Later, to the Diggers. I wore a jacket. Too warm it was: I carried it all the way there and all the way back. I nearly had to carry McC too. We can blame Frank, back from a couple of weeks working at his son’s place in the wilds of France, and eager to sink some decent beers. Oh, and a wee whisky for the road.