I can’t remember what Lee Abbey calls it’s weekend programme. But there’s a lot of “R”s in the title. Not that this matters as I spend a lot of the weekend outside. As I walk down to the beach the cool breeze raises goose pimples – it’s chilly after sticky city heat. Crunching over rocks and damp sand I spot little transparent blobs with faint violet markings: jellyfish. Not on my wish list for the weekend – I’d planned to swim and hate the thought of getting stung. So I compromise, padding across the bay in shin deep wavelets, kicking up spray, digging my toes into the sticky sand. I love this beach – it’s special to me. The quiet space where I feel most relaxed. Where I can talk to God or be silent. Later, I sit under a walnut tree in the peaceful, otherwordly tea cottage gardens. The solid twisty tree limbs happily dapple the sunlight. Reading a man-size chunk of biblical proverbs – my weekend project, whilst eating oven warm home baked scone and tea in unmatched china cups that my mum would be proud to own is a nice start to a weekend.
It’s a tale of two beaches – and two days of weather. Saturday I wake to misty grey drifting across the rooftop outside my room. And slip and slide down to the little cove the other side of Lee Bay. There are goats – I’m not surprised: only a goat can clamber down here in damp Devon rain without losing it’s footing. Sitting on a damp rock, clear of seaweed slime, I watch the surf smacking into an anvil shape rock, barnacles clinging on in a pool of seawater and the spray relentlessly coming in with the tide. Climbing up out of the coombe, I realise why I have the genetic throwback of really strong legs!