Beach day

A blazing hot day. Lorraine and I got up slowly and then made off to find Beth and James who were lurking on the beach. Lorraine and I went in twice, and actually the water temperature was perfectly nice once you were in. If I had been swimming lots rather than a bit of bobbing about, I could have stayed in for ages. Hardy types like Brian report the glow of wellbeing after getting out from the cold water in January. But I certainly did feel my mood improve and feeling fresher and more alive afterwards.

I'd never been down to the beach when it was so crowded here. Not enough for it to be oppressive, however. Nearby a bloke was catching mackerel by casting out a trace with small shiny lures on it. He reeled in three at once, one time. I have thought about doing this myself, but seeing the poor things thrashing about made me feel sad, which of course is very hypocritical of me. Part of me likes the idea of nipping off to the sea and returning with a brace of mackerel for our dinner though. 

Nice to hang out with Beth and James, who had kindly brought folding chairs that Lorraine and I sat on, when not swimming. Caught the sun. My nose glowing like a clown. A parasol caught by the wind cartwheeled into Lorraine, and poked into her chest. But she was okay.  

Sat in the back garden having late lunch, and had a doze and read more of the Penguin book The Uncanny by S. Freud, which contains several essays. Currently reading one Freud wrote about Leonardo Da Vinci, which is odd and interesting. Apparently he drew an anatomical picture of a man and a woman during intercourse, but seemed only to have a sketchy idea of lady parts, which of course Freud seizes on. If I had been able, I should have studied psychology rather than philosophy. 

Had a good chat with Mum early evening, then Lorraine and I got busy assembling a humongous salad with all kind of plants in it.  We watched the first two episodes of a series on TV on James's recommendation called The Boys, about a world where superheroes are run by a dodgy corporation and are no better than they should be. A plot that takes you by surprise every now and then, and some cartoonish violence feeds into the humour of it.

Below Seaford beach.