Beach follyball

Although the sun shone, it was windy at Whitesands, whipping the beach into tiny sandstorms dancing around your feet.

It was a good while since the daft dog and I had been there, which could explain why she was grateful enough to bring the ball back when I threw it.

Not that she dropped it dutifully in front of me or anything. But it was good not to have to actually chase her to get it back.

Every now and then she'd run into the sea for no apparent reason.