On The Beach

With the temperature creeping up to the mid nineties this morning, the beach was the place to be. Dillons Beach was the closest to Santa Rosa, and so with sticks for Ozzie the dog and cameras for the blippers we set off, passing through the small towns of Sebastopol and Tamales, with the countryside ever greener the nearer the coast. There were cows in the fields and bright purple, blue and yellow flowers peeping out of the hedgerows.

For the first time in my life, I paddled in the Pacific Ocean, and I have to say it felt colder than the Firth of Forth at Gullane, which is saying something. There is no way, I could have been persuaded to put more of my body into the water, inviting as it looked, sparkling deep blue with waves breaking in a dazzling froth.

But Ozzie the dog was happier than a dog with two tails, bouncing in and out of the waves to retrieve his sticks being thrown for him.
I walked and paddled, and walked and paddled some more, while blipping waves and seaweed as happy as another dog with two tails, until it was time to leave and drive further down the coast to Nick's Cove for lunch.

Clam chowder, tuna melt, crab cakes, fat mussels and salad were consumed with undisguised ferocity, while the bowl of seriously garlicky chips they set on the table to share meant that the smell of wet dog in the car on the way home was hardly noticed.

Returning to the White House, the thermometer reads 95 degrees at 4pm in the shade.
We are all inside in the cool of the house, with His Lordship and Oilman having siestas, while Berkeleyblipper and I have our heads down over our computers.

I'm not sure that anyone is thinking of eating again today, but you never know.