Swimming

It’s not that cold, I promise, he says, come with me.  OK, I will.  I get changed, grab a towel and slither down the steep shingle beach to the water’s edge.  I slip off my shoes and pick my way carefully over the smooth, hard pebbles, the soft soles of my feet complaining and the damp sand squelching between my toes.

The foamy little waves at the water’s edge wash over my feet.  He’s wrong.  It is cold, not arctic, but still cold.  But I’m here now, the sun is hot on my back, and he takes my hand.  Together we wade deeper, slipping on the pebbles and shivering as the water reaches our first our knees and then our thighs.

You know the best thing to do, don’t you, he says as he ducks down and starts swimming towards the horizon.  But I can’t bring myself to swim.  Not just yet.  I let the waves wash over my legs, gasping as they creep ever higher, splashing on warm, dry skin.

He’s bobbing about in the swell a few metres in front of me.  Come on, it’s better once you start swimming, come with me.  I take a deep, ozoney breath and wade into the chilly water, until it reaches my shoulders.  He’s right, it’s not so bad once you get in.  The bottom is pebble free now, a mix of sand and the soft, velvety clay that oozes between your toes and makes the water murky.

I swim a little way out and find a warmer patch, where I stop, with the tips of my toes just touching the bottom.  All around me are lengths of floating, brown, seaweed.  I catch some and pop the rubbery bubbles.  The water isn’t gaspingly cold, it isn’t even goosebumpy cold.  It’s just cold enought to make my skin tingle and wake me up.  I understand why people do this every day.  Why it’s addictive.  The sun is dazzling, scattering the water with sparkly diamonds. The sky is a vivid, clear, blue.  The roar of the water and screech of soaring seagulls are the only sounds.

The children are otherwise entertained and we are the only swimmers.  The only people.  We tread water in companionable silence, jumping up as waves hit our backs.  For a few perfect moments, we could be alone in the world.  He turns to me and says, the next time we do this, we’ll be in Hawaii.

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This post was written for the fab writing workshop at Sleep is for the Weak.  The prompt I chose this week is ‘Lucky‘.

26 Crabs

One beautiful sunny day in Walberswick, we caught 26 crabs.  If you want to know how to catch a crab, look here.  It’s fun.

This picture is part of today’s Photo Gallery at Sticky Fingers, which has a number theme.

The dinosaur hunters

The dinosaur hunters scramble over the waves of smooth iron-red sandstone to reach a higher vantage point.  They had been searching for the red-coated Eviesaurus for many days and were getting desperate.  They’d been wading through slimy swamps, treking through the wintery forest and fighting thickets of pricky gorse, releasing wafts of coconut scent into the air.

They are now weak with hunger so they stop by a still, inky pool to share the last of their meagre supplies.  Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek pierces the air and the hunters are running in the direction of the cry, spotting a glimpse of red coat through the braken and heather.  Will they catch her? Will they make it off the mountain alive?

Once upon a time, dinosaurs roamed Thurstaston Common…

This post is part of Photo Friday at Delicious Baby. For lovely travel pictures, click here

We love museums

What makes a museum good for children?  I don’t buy the argument that they can only be entertained by high tech flashing lights, pressing buttons and touch sensitive computer screens.  I think the very best museums engage and entertain children in the most imaginative of ways.

We’ve been deafened by explosions, created artistic masterpieces, become Saxon householders, been eaten by a Venus fly trap,  joined a band of revolting peasants, met the young Queen Victoria, peered down microscopes, danced with Chinese Dragons, camouflaged ourselves and sung carols around a blazing bonfire.

Museums are wonderful places for families and we are lucky that so many are free.  But what of museums that charge?  Does their family ticket suit your family? Does your local museum ticket admit 2+2, while you are a single parent with three children?  Kids in Museums is asking for your help.  They are gathering information about how family tickets suit real families, because families come in all shapes and sizes.  Let them know by filling in their simple form or by leaving a comment on this post, which I shall pass on.  Thank you.

Does your local museum ticket admit 2+2, while you are a single parent with three children?

All was quiet in the deep dark wood…

The approach to Black Down is deeply snowy, piled four feet deep in places.  Dusk is already falling as we climb up the path into the woods, slipping a little on the ice and piles of slimy leaves.   The children run on ahead with the exuberance of puppies, delighted to be released from the confines of the car into the frosty air.

The tall pine trees shelter us from a cold wind and the ground is squelchy underfoot.  Ponds are still covered in ice, which the children jump on, splashing freezing water into their wellies.  Huge branches litter the ground, casualties of the heavy snow.  The sun is setting across the wintry valley, silhouetting trees and bathing the children’s faces in a beautiful warm light which belies the air temperature.

It is easy to feel depressed during English winters.  It is dark when you wake up, often grey for much of the day, then dark again at about 4pm.  Getting three children dressed for the cold and the rain is a tiresome chore.  But a walk on a winter afternoon is worth the effort.

The woods are magical as darkness is falling.  Anything could happen…