Boys on Bournemouth Beach

From the waterpark nestled along Boscombe Chine, that steep-sided valley where the river once flowed through softly eroding coastal cliffs to the sea at Bournemouth Beach, to the award-winning pier of Boscombe where we feast on clotted cream and berry Purbeck icecreams, past the candy-coloured beach huts which quaintly hug the promenade, to the beach of Bournemouth, voted the best in the UK. My brother Joe and sister Anne-Marie, a teacher and an RN, live with all this on their doorsteps, just a short stroll away from each of their homes. How lucky I tell them they are, when, even in Winter they can instead look to the Purbeck Hills and national parks surrounding them for recreation rather than what, to them, feels like a bleak seaside town in winter, the summertime crowds long dispersed.

Moments after this, Reuben points to the choo-choo train which passes them by, Callum waves to the passengers and Reuben signs, their feet buried within the warm and gorgeously soft sands. Beaches have not been a part of our lives as trachs and sand do not a pretty partnership make and today I am relishing in the renewed delight!

I walk with the boys for miles as they sit in their tandom stroller, bobbing along the promenade and waving to passersby. I feel at this moment that I couldn't be happier. It's a beautiful day and tonight will bring a feast of a meal of seafood from Joe and Amanda to welcome us back. Anne-Marie, like Joe next week, has left for a euro-dodging holiday in Turkey and as I stay in her home and drool over the photos of her and Aurora, happily punctuated with snippets of me, I feel very close to her now despite the miles.