Seaside with the family

There are two great things about seaside family holidays. One’s the seaside. The other’s the family.

As for the seaside, the great thing about that is the sea. Beaches? Yeah, fine, good enough. But let’s remember the deathless verse of Lewis Carroll:

The Walrus and the Carpenter

      Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

      Such quantities of sand:

If this were only cleared away,'

      They said, 'it would be grand!'

 

If seven maids with seven mops

      Swept it for half a year,

Do you suppose,' the Walrus said,

      'That they could get it clear?'

'I doubt it,' said the Carpenter,

      And shed a bitter tear.

As for beachballs, buckets, spades, air mattresses, umbrellas and camp chairs, all the general beach litter that seems to accumulate near seaside sun worshippers, you can keep them. Collateral damage of a pleasant interlude by the sea, is my far-from-humble opinion.

No. It’s the sea itself that makes the trip worthwhile. Swimming in it. But also just enjoying the sights, or giving those sights permanent expression in a photograph. That’s something that constantly draws me to the sea.

This happened the other day. We were out on a rocky headland. More than that, really. A ruddy great rock sticking out of the sea.

A rock on the Spanish coast
Fortunately not surmounted by the Union Jack

I’m surprised it’s not a British possession: we like to seize control over large rocks off the Spanish coast, don’t we? But I suppose this one’s smaller than Gibraltar, and maybe the Foreign Office hasn’t noticed its existence.

It was clear that, with a bit of a scramble, I could get right down to the water level. At worst, I might suffer a bruise or two, perhaps a slight graze. But some of the waves were striking the rocks and throwing up great spouts of foam, potentially making a great picture.

Unfortunately, I was never quite on time to get that photo, or at least quite the way I wanted it. I got some pretty views, but nothing spectacular.

Wave breaking on the Ifach rock
Not as spectacular as I'd have liked

What I hadn’t taken into account was that the sea could produce a fairly spectacular picture of me. And the other part of the holiday, the family bit, would be right on hand to record it. Gleefully.

I got soaked by one of those lovely waves I was so keen on. Davide – which, pronounced as though it were French, is what we use to distinguish him from me (I don’t like ‘old David’ and ‘young David’) – is a far superior photographer, and he was cheerfully snapping away.

More spectacular than I bargained for
Davide catching me as a wave caught me

He even got the aftermath, of me standing there, trying to put a brave face on things and smile, though I knew I’d be spending the whole evening, including dinner, sopping wet.

The aftermath, or the price of my art
Soaking wet just in time for dinner

Ah well. The sea. And a son. Sources of joy, both of them.

And they come together just as they should in the family seaside holiday.