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| The Village Church Bells rang for 6-30 pm as Beach Buoy and Stubborn Dog reached a narrow line of sea coal, part-way between the strand line and the water's edge. It was a muggy overcast evening. The day had been hot. Beach Buoy had had better days. It was nothing serious, just one of those days. The beach would help. The Little Terns were busy and vociferous, as they dive- bombed the chancing Seagulls that were around the nest site. |
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| They headed south. A glance back showed that the beach was fairly empty, the low tide helped, giving a sense of space. They stacked the stack up in the dunes. They continued their southerly trek but stopped short before the North Gare Pier, so as not to disturb a large flock of seabirds that were stood in front of the grey rocks. |
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| Beach Buoy trudged back with Stubborn Dog Sand Skiing behind as he always does. |
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| Fishermen stood discussing life, their Rods angled like the cranes in the distant docks. Beach Buoy returned to the van at the same time as a man and his dog returned to their nearby car. 'Nice Camper van.' said the man. A socially distant chat ensued about vans, dogs, idiots in car park, aches and pains and motorcycles. Turns out the chap had been to a beach that Buoy Buoy had on his bucket list; Applecross. The man left. Beach Buoy grabbed a cold drink from the van's fridge and tried to be as chilled as the can was. BEACH BUOY. |
