Seeing Straight

I sat in the car eating fish and chips on Aldeburgh High Street yesterday evening, licking the salt off so that I could feed the boy in the back as well. He was in for another long haul as I watched Nabucco, and I thought some junk food might fill his tummy and help him to settle. It always works for me. When I was ready to go I put his travel bed on the seat and urged him into it, stiff leg by stiff leg. I have no idea why he was so reluctant, and when I got back at 9pm to release him he had pushed the bed away and squeezed into the tiny space beside it, still attached to the seat belt holder. There's stubborn. It was a lovely night, clear and warm, and so I took him for a walk along the prom prom prom. Nothing was stirring, the opera crowd having dispersed, some slower than others: "I'd hate to be behind this lot if there was a fire," muttered Ruth as we tried to get to the foyer in the interval, impeded by the halt and the lame. So I let Hugo off the lead, and he ran up the steps at breakneck speed onto the shingle. He seemed to stumble near the top but carried on, so when he rejoined me on the path I set off running for him to give chase. But when I looked back he was standing there holding a paw up. "What's the matter?" I asked, going to him immediately. He took a few steps and then held the paw up again. This was a problem. By now we were a good distance from the car, and I couldn't see what damage he had done. I made a quick decision to tie him to a bench and sprint off for the car, praying nobody would find him in the meantime. He was still standing there when I got back, and leapt onto the back seat easily, so I think he must have knocked the paw and got a shock.

He's fine today, and so was the morning, and so we took a plastic bag and a disposable glove on our walk with us to collect rubbish. I couldn't believe how full the bag was when we returned, and it was so addictive I wanted to carry on past our little stretch of lane and do the whole of Suffolk. Anyone who has driven along the A14 to Cambridge knows what a disgrace the verges are literally littered with litter. Every now and again you see a small team of bored men picking things up in a desultory way, and it occured to me that a giant mechanical hoover that swept everything up and crushed it would be fast and efficient. Why has our litter tsar not thought of this? James Dyson could knock several up in no time. It's an idea asking to be developed.

I came indoors reluctantly as it was so nice outside. The tasks I had set myself for the day suddenly seemed less appealing, so I rang Ruth to see what she was up to and we ended up on Kessingland beach. As we walked along the wide stretch of grass and sand the sun suddenly came out over Lowestoft, spotlighting it against the darker skies around. Out to sea a boat was hovering in midair several feet above the horizon, the mist obliterating the actual point where sea met sky. It was all quite magical, and Hugo seemed to feel it too with his mad capers and scampers. I love living near the sea. It always reminds you of the huge space out there, and the tiny pinprick that is your life and issues. It brings perspective, that's what it does, and that's never a bad thing.