The sound of seagulls
When it feels like the world is on holiday, sometimes I like to step back and have a bit of a break in our lovely coastal town; even if it's just for a couple of hours at a time. It's been feeling a bit more springy, hasn't it, with the scant, bravest of early blossom being instagrammed by the more optimistic of us.
Most of my timelines are full of people on amazing holidays and I'm not going away for a while and it's really hard not to be envious. Especially when Timehop insists on showing me how gorgeous and hot and sunny and fun life was this time last year.
Some people were walking home from work, up the hill from the station in suits and loosened ties, others were on evening dog walks, or stepping out too like we were. Seagulls circled, singing their familiar song. There's something so beautiful and holidayish about sitting outside on a warm (ish) evening (I'd like to personally thank the cafe for the addition of blankets) and having a nice drink, chatting away, unpacking the week and talking about what the weekend will hold.
We wandered across the road to the Sand Bar, two mimosas down and ready to guzzle San Pellegrino. We had a delicious meal and had a window seat upstairs, the gold and pink light casting a warmth on the view, and best of all: the tide was in. You can't beat those holiday-style views.
We wandered home, full (very full) and ready to crash out with tea and Corrie on catch up. The next day, I cleared the garden of all the dead things ready for new spring flowers, I swept the patio, pulled out weeds and had my first al fresco cup of tea this year. As I worked, seagulls again cawed overheard. The sound of a summer to come. The sound of holidays. Not bad for home, is it?
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