Bray Hoarding

Susie took Lola for a walk, so I took the wean for a swim in Bray. For once, I didn't go in with him, but watched from the changing rooms with a woman who was keeping an eye on her own brood. Her raucous kids dominated the shallow pool where the wean was thoughtfully wading about and occasionally immersing himself. They were rough enough, from their accents probably Travelers, but only in the way of a rough-housing family of kids: splashing and jostling each other, and occasionally the wean who stood out as being in a wholly different world. I noticed the older boy (almost skeletal but wiry and tough-looking, with the narrow, lived-in face he'll probably be wearing when he's seventysomething) tap the wean on the shoulder and say something. Later I learnt that the kids had simply asked him if he swam.

A beautiful warm evening. We went for a short walk on the prom and saw a wanton act of destruction. We'd been admiring a sandcastle someone had left behind and, as we walked on, two largish dogs came running over and very deliberately pissed and trampled on it till it fell to ruins, then back-kicked sand at it in a farewell volley. Vandals. Before heading back to the car. I bought him a tub of chocolate ice cream