Invading crabs? What? WHAT?

I had a rubbish bank holiday.

I will not lie.

I was meant to go to Cornwall to see my little-middle sister (It is not that she is little around the middle, although she is, but rather than I have two little sisters of which she is the middle one. If that makes sense. You know it does.) before she embarks on a six-month-round-the-world adventure. But on Thursday night, just as I was excitedly warming up to pack (knee-bends, finger-flexes and so forth) she informed me that it was "not great timing".

Her boy (who is a bit errant) had recently volunteered to go to Swaziland for a charity. And had been suddenly posted. (Not in an envelope. I don't think. Although to be entirely honest, I don't actually know.) So they had only three days left together. Which they obviously wanted to spend in a flurry of intense love-activity.

Without me.

I cannot understand it.

In an effort to save a little of my woo-woo-three-day-holiday spirit, hub and I carefully and time-consumingly selected a portion of your best British coast to visit on Saturday.

I drove for many hours. We arrived at the coast. There was an old man with a hat and a toll booth. He told us the aforementioned portion of coast was closed.

For security reasons.

I wept, dear readers, I did. Shamelessly and in the car.

I had so been looking forward to an afternoon frolicking with my hub by the sea.

After I had recovered (a bit) we drove some more and ended up at a slightly grotty seaside town.

But.

There was a beach.

And there was the sea.

And even though it was VERY late in the day, the sun was still out.

So we had an ice-cream and paddled a bit (up to our knees) before clambering back in the Tickle-mobile and setting off home.

I know we will be moving to the sea in almost no time at all, but still.

It was a bit of a damp squib.

Humph.

There is little worse than a Grumpy Tickle.