Last of the hot days?

It was hot today. Or perhaps I made myself hotter than was sensible, with my Pilates class before coffee and a good 90 minutes pulling weeds and grass and random sprouts of rosa rugosa from my front garden path - I was bent double for most of the morning. By the time we'd desisted from all this bucolic toil and collapsed in a shady chair under the wisteria for lunch (bad plan - the flowers fall in your tea there) our neighbours through the hedge (not the fire-raising ones; the other side) had set out their patio chairs and we could sense several new arrivals...

An hour later I had to quit the garden. There must have been at least 4 households represented in the family gathering that had rapidly grown very loud and I could bear it no longer. We were both feeling the effects of the morning, so a short walk seemed in order - followed by some time on the beach before the incoming tide covered the few sandy bits. I'm blipping the blissful moment as I stood thigh-high in the sea wishing I'd replaced the swimsuit that has developed saggy bits since lockdown began ...

But even paddling was glorious. The firm sand was marked under the water by the trails of small, determined creatures, and isolated clumps of bladderwrack just begged to have their blobs popped, and when the Rothesay ferry passed there were small waves from its wake. And it was quiet - this isn't really one of the beaches people go to in number. Mind, just as we were leaving a massive converted Mercedes bus pulled into the space beside the road and two people climbed out and strolled down to the sea. No-one's going to tell me they were just out for a spin in that huge thing, which I've never seen before ...

And now I read that Nicola is threatening to tighten the rules up again. No wonder.