Today was a hard landing, back to reality after a week on holiday to enjoy the last few morsels of British summer. Already, I can feel the memories of the week fading away - not too unexpected, as we visited a familiar place to do familiar things; it was a week for relaxation, not new experiences.
One of those familiar things was a bit of coastal construction. No UK sea-side holiday is complete without building a sandcastle under grey skies - in this case, a ziggurat which became the envy of half of the beach.
While the passers-by were very kind with their praise of our handiwork, what impressed me was that none of the onlooking children defied their parents to smash up what was clearly a very tempting target.
The defensive sea wall was a particular triumph; we got to spend half an hour chatting while the canals filled up. After the first few corners collapsed, it took another hour before the main structure crumbled.
Of course, nature always wins in the end. By the time the tide rolled out, there was nothing left but a smudge - a slight disruption to the pattern of material which had been picked up and deposited again. We could have built another, but the castle wasn’t important - nor were the photos. A day spent chatting and smiling was worth every kilojoule of energy we put into that sand, even though it was only ever destined be redistributed by the sea.