The Beach. Not usually my place of choice whether on holiday or having stumbled across a sandy strip on the way to somewhere else. Here ,however at Camasdarach it was impossible not to be taken in, to be smitten by the beauty of it and by the tranquillity and peacefulness of it.
Mrs BW and I had let the teenagers go down to the beach to check it out leaving us to finish off setting up the tent. Twenty minutes later, a dripping wet and excitable Munch came running back up the pathway into the field.
“Mum, Dad, come on its brilliant, you’ve got to come down. Now!”
We followed him down, he was almost dancing down, leaping and jumping about, excitedly talking about the wonderful beach and then turning round to check that we were still following.
And he was right.
The sun glittered on the calm sea and the sand was pure white and the sea was turquoise and tempting, and I was in shorts and a tee-shirt.
“Go back and get your swimming shorts Dad” both the Munch and the Weasel demanded.
“Can’t be bothered” I said, and they looked a little crestfallen. “I’m going in as I am” and stripping off my tee shirt, I raced them into the freezing water. It was cold, very cold, but refreshing and all the stress of the journey and the stress of putting up the tent and sorting out the big pile of stuff that we had brought with us,into some sort of order, evaporated as I splashed about.