What to do with two grown sons who want to come on our annual memorial trip to South Devon, where for decades our family had a caravan, but who are notoriously difficult to herd, even with a collie to help?
Well, when I say two sons, I actually mean Son the Younger, he's the one who's hard to organise, but with patience and persistence, we managed it about a month earlier than usual, Cwtch and I, and we both still have some hair that isn't grey and/or ripped out, so we did very well.
Having parked in our usual spot on Windward Lane at Holcombe, we set off down Smugglers Lane to the beach, and headed towards Teignmouth.
The beach was littered with spider crab shells and leg armour, not on account of some horrible ecological disaster but because this is the time of year they moult.
I also spotted a couple of small clear jellyfish washed up - these were dead, of course. Moon jellyfish, maybe.
samphire
What a difference nearly 30 years makes ...
We walked past the cafe we were planning to have lunch in by mistake and ended up in Teign Street. I was very taken with a shop called 'Sew What?' It used to sell cheap clothing, I think, and had sun umbrellas all over the front of it, so I never really noticed the lovely frontage before.
Having retraced our steps a short way and located the cafe in question, we had lunch and then meandered in the direction of the back beach to catch the ferry to Shaldon. Cwtch was very pleased to back on board. She's almost as salty a sea-dog as her predecessor, Ted.
Instead of heading for the Ness and Ness beach this time, we walked in the opposite direction, up the river beach almost as far as Ringmore Towers, which, back in the 1960s, my sister and I knew as Teasy-Weasy's house.
I'd hoped the tide might be low and we could go out on the tidal island, Salty, but it was coming in fast, so we wandered back down to the main part of the beach, picking up sea glass, and bits of broken pottery that must have been dumped in the river at some point, all the way. Then it was back across the ferry, an ice cream with clotted cream in what used to be Amanda's - a much smaller portion, this time, we noted - and a wander back along the sea wall to Holcombe.
We even did a spot of wave-dodging at the bottom of the slipway at Sprey Point, which was fun, although Cwtch looked a little anxious.
It felt like we were on holiday proper, and I wasn't at all keen to leave - and even less keen to face the steepness of Smugglers Lane, but as it turned out, I got up to the top rather more easily than in recent years, so must be slightly fitter than I have been.
Back home there was lots of lovely treasure to gloat over. I feel very lucky to be able to make these return trips in such excellent company.
