AS YOU might imagine, I have been walking in the sea, with my trouser legs rolled up. The controversial incident happened on a sunny day, which you will be able to place, if you have a calendar and keep meticulous meteorological records, as all good citizens should.
I am uncertain, as these words tumble from my brain, and thence – by means of electronic shamanism – on to this page, whether to tell you the location of the aforementioned sea dawdling. You are good people, kind and true, and many of you live furth
of the East Lothian coast and may not even know where Aberlady Bay is, though I do not know why I mention Aberlady Bay. Actually, I do know. It is because I am an idiot, with the strategic brain of a remedial amoeba suffering from attention deficit disorder.
Never mind. The only reason I was considering not telling you the name was that I didn't want you all dashing down there in a mob. "Yes, we've all come for the peace and quiet, to get away from it all!" cries the crowd.
But there, it is out now. Fear not. You magazine readers are sensible, responsible citizens, and would be expected to behave properly if you followed my example and paddled in the sweet warm seas of Aberlady Bay.
It was not what I'd expected to be doing. I'd expected to be dragged round Ikea, arguing in vain with their kitchen department as to why they kept not phoning us when they said they would. It was too nice a day for all that nonsense. The Burd had long fancied a walk on an East Lothian beach, followed by tea and scones in a favourite hotel she'd visited in the past.
The car park for her chosen spot was packed, so we drove on and got the last space for Aberlady Bay. Neither of us had been before, but it is now up there in my list of heavenly places. It's a nature reserve of some sort – you could look it up on the internet, I suppose, as could I, but I'm far too busy for that sort of thing. Suffice to say, it was as if a little bit of a lost world preserved. Here, butterflies fluttered fitfully in their "honest idiocy of flight" (Graves). It was lovely to see so many after their apparent absence this year in many places. A little powdery blue one, in particular, took our fancy. However, it tasted awful. If you are a foreigner reading this column, that was a joke, by the way. Do not write in to the Ombudsman.
We saw loads of yellow and black caterpillars and, down by a pond, dragonflies, which seem so exciting nowadays, when wild things are disappearing.
We didn't know where we were going, nor did we meet too many people on this idyllic walk, which was odd, considering all the cars. Those we did meet all said hello, apart from one family of sullen neds. A good proportion of those we encountered were foreigners, with their comical, splayed- feet walking styles. They must have discovered this secret arcadia by assiduous researches.
But there were Scots families, too, and not everyone was wearing shorts. One splendid fellow kept his jacket on. He completed the 35-minute walk, examined the beach briefly, then returned. There should be more like him, people not given to hedonistic loitering or gratuitous display.
Though, obviously, we knew we were near the sea, we hadn't anticipated the beautiful beach. The going had got sandier, and the Burd had taken to walking in bare feet, despite my admonitions. Then we encountered a couple of proud men showing off their pecs. Mine were bigger, and I was in better shape (is that tittering I hear?), but my skin is the colour of peeled potato, and I cannot display it without feeling shame. However, soon, after considerable argument, I did follow the Burd's example and removed my footwear. I admit it was mildly liberating.
The path got steeper, and the sands heavier, until a vista of beach and sea opened up before us. The beach was not crowded. Evidently, the long walk puts off many feeble-minded folk. We were able to lie down and relax in sands that haunt atavistic memory. We walked into the sea, until my troosers were soaked to the knees. I took off my shirt. No longer did I care for convention or propriety. Besides, there were other Scots here, with potato-coloured skin. I was with my kith on a sun-kithed beach.
We never got the tea and scones. It was too late and we were hungry for dinner at home. But we shall return better prepared next time. See you all there.
The full article contains 813 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
