Floating

Following yesterday’s rest, today sees us heading to a surprise 75th birthday party for the friend who visited us midweek. It’s wonderful to see Sue’s face as she’s brought into a room filled with friends and family, and I’m really glad I’ve made it. But - perhaps unsurprisingly - it’s all a bit too much for me. I just can’t cope with the length of time sitting at a table making conversation in a hot and noisy room, and despite dosing myself up with painkillers, it’s clear I just can’t manage more than  an hour. We make our farewells, and head for home and horizontal rest. I’m so much better than last week, but clearly just not well enough for this type of occasion. 

By this evening, you can almost sense the heatwave dissipating. All is still and balmy, but clouds are gathering in increasing numbers. Looking from the bedroom window, the sea is almost milky, the distant wind turbines seeming to float in the stillness, their massive height doubled by long reflections. 

And this would be my blip today - but despite tiredness, I’m drawn down to the sea. It feels as if this is a moment to savour; the heatwave’s last hurrah. With some reluctance, G drives me down to Rhos - how I long to be able to walk down to the prom, but I know it’s just too far. 

Colwyn’s newly extended beach is full of families making the very most of the weekend’s weather. Past 7.00 pm in September, and it resembles a sunny August afternoon. The boats in Rhos’s little harbour glow in the evening’s golden light, mirror calm waters reflecting the clouds. 

The old wooden jetty is fast disappearing under the incoming tide, the marker poles reflected perfectly to give the impression they are suspended in midair.  

It’s glorious - one of those serenely calm evenings that stays in the memory for ever. 

My main’s the old wooden jetty, with a couple more shots of Rhos on Sea harbour in extras, together with the wind turbines.