I agreed with Suzanne that we should get out for a walk on New Year's Day. The weather forecast promised us constant downpours and high winds, but we agreed that it's always fun to see waves crashing on sea walls at times like this. And you never know when the rain will stop and give you a lovely day, snatched from the jaws of a gloomy Met Office prognostication.
Some you win, some you don't entirely win. The rain didn't let up. Though Suzanne's brolly did. Every bin we passed that day was stuffed with broken brollies.
Oh, look, that's Steepholm in the background there.
I kept mine furled, and used it to probe the sand before stepping off the shingle at the foot of the breakwater. Good job I did, as it wasn't sand but mud, and deep mud too. Well, this was Weston Super Mare.
What we needed was a beach shelter. They proved to be non-existent in W-S-M. Maybe they encourage The Wrong Sort. But we found this one at Sand Bay. Facing out to sea, with the wind blowing offshore. A perfect spot to set up the Trangia and make strong tea with condensed milk in, and admire the view of the raging ocean.
In the distant grey of the water, an occasional off-white line would rush from right to left, indicating a wave breaking along the mudflats. Look, Flatholm! Wales is over there somewhere.