I wasn’t sure of the wisdom of a trip to the beach today: although warm it was windy and sometimes even drizzly. But R. and Susan had it all planned…
And as it happened, it was great. Our girls get on really well with Hazel and Iris, and after something to eat at the Chocolate Fish we all went across the road to the beach.
Where we were the archetypal middle class families at the beach, two pairs of little blond girls in identical Warehouse wetsuits (Harper girls with orange trim, Macdougall girls with pink); fully-clothed parents walking along the beach behind (although I should mention that at least Sean had the forethought to wear a pair of shorts in case he had to go fishing).
It was only a matter of time before one fell in completely, such was their enthusiasm for the water. It was R₂’s turn this time, floating in the waves choking on mouthfuls of water, the waves keeping her from grounding herself while her mother panic splashed though the water to reach her. I camouflaged my complete unpreparedness for any of this by laughing loudly. After all, I expected this to happen. Happens every time you know. She’ll be right.
And she was, really. Here she is, a little later, mixing a cake. “Some sugar, and a cup of flour”, she explained.
And as is to be expected, she did not want to go home when the time came, protesting vigourously, quieted only by the prospect of a packet of chips at the nearest dairy.
“The beach is really great!”, she said.