This summer has been glorious, especially in comparison to last years total rainfest. We’ve spent hours in parks, on the beach and driving through winding country lines, we’ve lain on sun dappled blankets and soaked up the warmth of the rays. There’s been artisan coffee, homemade cake and homegrown vegetables, farmers markets, historical houses and tea factories. We’ve meandered, hiked, raced and driven, and collapsed into our beds exhausted but fulfilled. It’s been a good few weeks.
My biggest regret is that we didn’t get to go camping. We weighed up the pros and cons, and decided that with Daisy so young, and Ben so hyperactive, it would be pretty much a recipe for disaster, so it’s on the list of things to do for next summer. I’m dreaming of the Just So Festival, and possibly Bestival or Womad (especially after reading the wonderful posts by Hannah and Lou), peaceful campsites, washing in streams and abandoning technology for days on end.
One of my absolute favourite trips of the summer was the day we packed up the car, and headed out to West Witterings for breakfast on the beach. We arrived at 7am, when everything was still bathed in hazy morning sunshine; the sand was cool under our feet, and the only people around were two young girls who emerged from their tent, stretching and yawning, as we arrived. We ate brioche and drank hot coffee from a flask, flew our trusty old kite and ran wild across the dunes, before embarking on a lengthy beach-combing expedition. We left just before lunch, as people started to arrive with their loud radios and cases of beer, feeling glad we were travelling in the opposite direction to the people queuing for miles to find a parking space. It was a good day.