It happens every year. I know it’s coming. I should be prepared. After all, it is such a hype to get there and it never works quite how you planned, but still, Christmas is over and somehow everything feels flat. It is such a bittersweet time. I love watching people’s faces as they open their presents. There’s that rush of excitement when you think you’ve been imaginative, or if you have managed to get them something you know they really want, but there’s also that anxiety when you’ve made a bit of a guess or ‘made do’ with something because you’ve run out of ideas. And then, of course, there’s the missing ones. The empty chairs left vacant by those we have lost, or those that have moved on, no longer part of our inner circle of family or friends. Or of course temporary vacancies caused by distance, work or other commitments. And even though I resolve every year to restrain my intake of food and drink, there is always that bloated, unhealthy feeling of lethargy that hangs about for a week or so.
Hardly surprising then, that we are driven out into the fresh air, even when the wind howls and the rain lashes and common sense nags that we should stay in the warm and conserve our energy. So, as in every other year, we head out, regardless of conditions and if possible we drag along any hapless family member that can’t run away quick enough to escape our enthusiasm. Hence, on the 29th December, Bob and I took the dogs for a blustery, wet and sand-ridden walk on Widemouth Bay, and because he couldn’t plead any other worthy occupation, Byron had to come too. A short video that gives you the flavour.