Driftwood on the shore

Every time we visit my mother it always surprises us to rediscover that East Sussex motorists are miseries. When we walk the dogs along the side of the road up here we politely thank motorists for giving us room and generally receive an acknowledgement, from total strangers as well as acquaintances. Not down there. The best you can hope for is a glare. Surly gits.

One afternoon we took the dogs to the seaside for a change. The tide was in which was a shame as it meant there was no sand, only shingle, but on the plus side it meant the dogs couldn’t run too fast or too far. Harry changed his mind about eating a large fishhead he found on the tideline which was good. I found a lovely hole with a stone around it and a stack of slipper limpets. There must have been about 15 or so forming a spiral so I took them back to Ma’s to show her, thinking they were just empty shells stuck together by concretions. It was only later when I picked up the stack that it seemed a bit loose, but tightened up again when I wiggled it. Ooops! They were still alive-alive-oh. My brother’s advice was to do what he did with such trophies as a child; put them into a bucket then abandon them under someone's bed for weeks. I didn't.