HH hits the beach

Poor HH barely slept a wink last night (forgot to take his last lot of meds and even the Parkinsonian twitches didn't alert him). I woke at some point to find he was stretched out in another room and at 6.30 a.m. he was already at the computer. Seemed the best option might be a walk on the beach, which he hasn't visited in an age. It's ages, too, since we've seen it on a Sunday, so the number of flags and stands surprised us. It's all because Copacabana, Ipanema and beyond now have subway stations and people flood in from the suburbs at weekends. One large group we passed had it all sorted - flags planted, matching chairs and sunshades, cold boxes and lashings of good humour. Lots of little children splashing around in the shallows and the ladies displaying an impressive set of substantial bottoms in 'dental floss' bikinis.

Further on, two lads rushed into the water and came out holding fish, then some flitted past our feet. I tried to catch a photo and an old guy bent down and grabbed first one, then another. He held them up so I could get the shot (extra photo), then didn't return them to the water, but beetled off up the beach, obviously thinking in terms of breakfast. Poor fish.

Back home for bacon, eggs and the trimmings (not often we have that), then HH actually had a nap and I returned to accounts and the computer. Late lunch, but another treat - filet mignon, and now we're watching the Masters again. Stay firm, Sergio, win it for Seve.