Life for Lola

Back with my nose firmly at the grindstone my holiday memories, like my reluctant sun tan, fading with each passing hour. My annual summer leave turned out to be one of disease. Both the ladyfriend and I were laid low with nasty colds that no amount of benilyn and ginger beer could touch. It meant that our decorating plans remained just that, we were both too weak to lift a sponge roller between us.

When we managed to move a typical day began with tea and buttered toast. We then dressed for the beach, packed our lunch and set out in the motor. I jumped out at the traffic lights to buy the newspapers, two cans of cold ginger beer and chocolate then it was Holywell Beach bound. We then made a bee-line for the unofficial nudey beach - less children but you have to stomach the wrinkly arses of mucky old men. We had a rare old time. I flew my kite, we dipped in the briney, splashed in rock pools, hunted fossils, skinned our hearts and skinned our knees - the usual stuff. It is the best beach in all christendom, my favourite place where God paints the scenery and I want to go back : Click here for pictures