Among the ranks of the self-employed, I'm sure I'm not alone in putting in a few hour's work on a Sunday morning.
My lovely workroom is right next to the office so it's tempting to pop in and do a bit of surreptitious catching up while listening to The Archers omnibus edition on the radio.
However, this morning, the lure of sunshine and relatively blue skies was coupled with a very persistent Small Dog who came trotting into the workroom to sit by the side of my chair, giving me a very hard stare and the occasional tentative tap with her paw.
So, we kitted up and off we set, down to the seafront to blow away the cobwebs.
It was definitely blowy.
We started off along the promenade with the wind behind us and it didn't feel too bad. Small Dog definitely doesn't like tail winds but the distraction of picking up her wee mails and enforcing her rigourous Stop And Sniff policy took her mind off them . However the return trip was a whole different kettle of fish, as we battled into the wind head on. It was high tide and the pounding of the waves on the shingle just a few feet away made conversation impossible so we just put our heads down and plodded along.
PP is an enthusiastic beachcomber, and was hopeful that the recent storms might have washed up some interesting flotsam and jetsam. Sure enough, she spotted a huge hank of rope with some old fishing net attached. As well as a long plank of wood, which she declared would make excellent firewood. So I'm sure we made an amusing sight, struggling along the promenade, lugging the rope, net and wood, Small Dog striking out in front, resplendent in her fluorescent pink raincoat, tail streaming out behind her.
I do love living close to the sea. As a child, growing up midway between Edinburgh and Glasgow, the sea always seemed hundreds of miles away. On summer holidays, journeys to the sea felt interminable; my brother and I jammed in the back seat of the car, surrounded by all the paraphernalia of a family holiday, with the added complication of an extremely car sick dog, who would regularly throw up over one or both of us as we struggled to get his head out of the car window.
Those seaside holidays, initially at North Berwick or Dunbar on the east coast of Scotland, where the cutting wind came hurtling off the cold North Sea, and latterly on the relatively balmy west coast of Argyll, where the warming waters of the Gulf Stream made the sea temperature bearable, made me long to live by sea..... one day.
And that one day is now.
Yes it would be lovely to have a sea view and be within walking distance of the beach, but I'm hoping that might be a possibility when we retire. In the meantime, a short jaunt in the car and we're there.