Silver surf waves, a commercial for summer holidays.

7th August 2023

The sunshine feels brighter after rain. The weekend drenching has washed the dust from the air, the sky looks clear, and bright blue is a refreshing change from grey.

The thoroughly August beach and sea appeared not only irresistible, but rare and precious too. Our sometimes cold, sometimes wet, sometimes howling half the night, never sure what’s next weather has made me forget what I’d expect to see at a morning beach in high summer.

The shingle tumbled to a stretch of pale pebble-freckled sand that was being gently lapped by charming silver waves with frilly edges. In truth, the waves weren’t always charming, frequently a little too forceful and sometimes forgetting their manners entirely and knocking you onto the sand; but they were silver surf waves, aligned in sequence, a commercial for summer holidays.

A brisk north westerly breeze on the beach was a reminder that this is no usual hazy summer. The sea water felt cold too, a legacy of the heavy rain, and it was hard to believe that the sea temperature was actually the published seventeen and a half degrees.

Nevertheless, there is absolutely no better way to spend a Monday morning. We could walk to the sandbank, through mostly waist-height water, turning sideways when a wave approached, letting it wash past and against, sometimes more successfully than others.

Rupert’s Mum was coming out of the water when I - late - got in. She kindly loaned me her swimming hat. I was going to opt for my bobble hat - how wet could my head get? - and then noticed the drips running down her face.

It’s good to have ear coverage in a lively sea. However careful you are, water gets in and it’s three times as hard to get out. Uncomfortable too.

I waded out to the sandbank crab-like, and was thoroughly splashed wet in the first minute. The summer gang was there, mostly jumping, sometimes being distracted by chat and facing the wrong way as a wave twice their height crept up behind them. The waves that bound in from beyond the bank look huge and often are. They still appear scary, even when you’re used to them.

Waves that are jumpable, chest height or lower, should be jumped because it’s one of the best things in the world to do. Watch your timing and as the wave begins to touch, propel yourself upwards and over it. I like arms in the air whenever possible. You’ll feel smart and funny and likely exchange smart and funny grins with those that have successfully jumped too.

The waves that come in from beyond and are too high to jump, at least for me, appear quite intimidating and maybe that’s part of the fun, facing something that you usually dare not face. My tactic now is to straighten my body and arms like a slightly wonky surfboard and throw myself on top of the wave, just as it starts to break. I get wet, but I don’t get caught in the washing machine rollers, and mostly, I’ll be carried towards the shore and stand up, shake myself out a little and wait for the next one.

I walked back to the beach with the Canadian. We were chatting. Interrupted somewhat by my falling over twice. I like to think that the sand was very uneven. I fell again and she lent me her arm for getting out. Sometimes, knowing it’s there is enough.

Rupert was having another go at swimming. He’d successfully tried once and was now wearing a natty terrier buoyancy jacket on loan from the Canadian. He dabbed at the water, sniffed, didn’t like it, certainly wasn’t going to get in again.