April 6th 2015

Today I spent some time on the beach. An act that isn’t particularly surprising considering I’m on a holiday in a town by the sea. 

The thing about beaches, and get this, is that they’re full of sand. 

And I don’t particularly like sand that much. In fact, I dislike it. But, because I’m a massive hypocrite, I also like it. 

This is normally how it goes: I go to the beach, do my hardest not to get any sand in, on or around me, and then when I inevitably do end up with sand on my shoes (today it was because I miscalculated how far the tide was going to come in, and my shoes got wet and sandy) I give up hating it, and embrace it. 

So when I’ve accepted the fact that I’m likely to get sandy being on the beach, I can enjoy it a bit more. Like today, I started digging a hole with my hands. Mainly to just collect a massive pile of sand over and through which I could run my hands. Pick up piles of sand. Drop piles of sand. Repeat. Piles of sand. 

I’m in the stage of my life where I am in between the ages when you’re allowed to build sand castles. You stop when you’re no longer a kid (at heart, at least) and you start again when you have a kid yourself. 

So I dug. Because there’s no age range for digging. 

Until tomorrow, dig, bury, build. 



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