Summer Holiday

It is Day 2 of the school summer break.

Already, I have stopped speaking to my son.

1. Yesterday, it was blisteringly hot so we went to

1. the beach. I have invested in a sensibly-priced, 10- quid pop-up beach tent. But it's a thin t is Day 2 of the school summer break. 

Already, I have stopped speaking to my son.

Yesterday, it was blisteringly hot so we went to the beach. I have invested in a sensibly-priced, 10- quid pop-up beach tent. But it needs weighing down with pebbles to stop it disappearing to Mars in the slightest breeze.

It was windy yesterday but my hopes were high.

However, as we padded across the interminable acres of sand that make up Westward Ho! when the tide is at its lowest, he remarked pointedly and in advance that he would not be collecting the necessary rocks as he would get tired.

We chose an unimaginative spot and I put all the bags down. Hunter had been carrying his usual self-assured smile and little else. He wandered off towards the ocean leaving me sitting half in, half out of the tent thing.

I ate an egg mayonnaise sandwich.

I made an executive decision: placing most of the heavy stuff towards the back of the flimsy, fly-away tent I dashed like a crazy bitch to the lip-line of the pebble ridge about five minutes sprint away and picked up two rocks the size of a Leeds Uni student Doner Kebab. I raced back and plonked them in the tent.

Phew. Job done.

I polished off the egg sarnie than wondered if Hunter was ok in the sea. I blew up a Turbo Ring in triple time which gave me the dizzies and ran down the rippling sand to find him. It was like that scene from Jaws. The lady in the floppy hat calling for her son.

I couldn't see Hunter and my blood was congealing and I needed a poo. of fright. I walked back and forth shading my eyes, staring for his green top, begging and bargaining with God, my mouth was dry and it was hell. Then I spotted him. He waved, embarrassed. I swam over to him, he had seen me ages before. He had enjoyed watching me looking for him.



  as a butterfly wing les to stop it disappearing to Mars in the slightest breeze.

It was windy yesterday but my hopes were high.

However, as we padded across the interminable acres of sand that make up Westward Ho! when the tide is at its lowest, he remarked pointedly and in advance that he would not be collecting the necessary rocks as he would get tired.

We chose an unimaginative spot and I put all the bags down. Hunter had been carrying his usual self-assured smile and little else. He wandered off towards the ocean leaving me sitting half in, half out of the tent thing.

I ate an egg mayonnaise sandwich.

I made an executive decision: placing most of the heavy stuff towards the back of the flimsy, fly-away tent I dashed like a crazy bitch to the lip-line of the pebble ridge about five minutes sprint away and picked up two rocks the size of a Leeds Uni student Doner Kebab. I raced back and plonked them in the tent.

Phew. Job done.

I polished off the egg sarnie than wondered if Hunter was ok in the sea. I blew up a Turbo Ring in triple time which gave me the dizzies and ran down the rippling sand to find him. It was like that scene from Jaws. The lady in the floppy hat calling for her son.

I couldn't see Hunter and my blood was congealing and I needed a poo. of fright. I walked back and forth shading my eyes, staring for his green top, begging and bargaining with God, my mouth was dry and it was hell. Then I spotted him. He waved, embarrassed. I swam over to him, he had seen me ages before. He had enjoyed watching me looking for him.