Its three weeks today since I arrived at my Winter Palace.
Every day I have gazed out at the Reckitt's blue sea, and down at our beautiful beach ... but although they are within a few hundred metres of my doorstep, I hav'n't yet made it down for a paddle. Why? Because those maddening metres are downhill. And I, alas, don't do downhill. Especially when it's ramps..
But things are looking up. After three mega-sessions with Amanda Brightwell, my world's champion masseuse, I am not only walking without my stick upwards, but ready to face the downhill challenge ...
And since today dawned blue-white-and-not too hot I decided to have a go. The lovely kiosk by the beach, with its 'bar' overlooking the sands, was my target. And guess what, I made it! Proof!
I sat at the 'bar, with a nice long coffee and the Kiosk's always-grand cheese'n'ham toastie (oh André, no ham off the bone anymore?) and gazed. Watched the happy folk bathing, surfing ... and since Mrs Woke of Wokingham and her naked baby weren't around, this year, snapped merrily away. The whales were running in numbers, but every time I went to photograph one doing a backflip, I was too late.
The sea was only the beach-width away. Dared I? Some one would arm me down the boat ramp ... No. Slowly slowly catchee monkey. Next time. I'll get that photo of my feet in the ocean, very soon.
PS for those who don't know the story of Mrs Woke, here is the tale from three years back ...
https://kurtofgerolstein.blogspot.com/2021/05/yamba-freedom-of-man-versus-modern.html
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