[Dress (worn as skirt): Miss Selfridge via ebay // top: ancient, no idea // shoes: gift from my parents]
When I was just a few years old, my parents announced that we would be going on holiday to Spain: a trip which would, they told me, involve plenty of time at the beach.
Now, this was my first time abroad, but I was no stranger to the beach: in fact, I’d spent quite a lot of time at North Berwick, on the East Coast of Scotland, which, as I’ve mentioned here many times before, is one of those classic British seaside towns, right out of an Enid Blyton novel. So I knew the beach. And I knew exactly what I would need to wear on it, too. So as my mum started packing my suitcase for this trip to Spain, I rushed off to my wardrobe and returned bearing the two most essential items for the well-dressed beach-going three year-old:
1. A pair of Wellies
2. A waterproof jacket
It took my mum some time to convince me that not ALL beaches in the world were freezing cold, and very, very wet. I was amazed. And I LOVED Spain. But I never stopped loving North Berwick, too: in fact, it’s still one of my favourite places in the world, and I try to go back there at least once a year, only these days I normally leave the wellies at home. Which, seriously? Is a mistake. It’s a mistake my three-year-old self wouldn’t have made. My adult self, however, has obviously learned NOTHING from her past errors, so when Terry suggested we take a drive out to Seacliff beach, to the east of the town, I once again rushed off to my wardrobe, but this time I returned with:
1. A cotton sundress
In my defence, the forecast was for a warm, sunny day. And, you know, it’s August. If you can’t wear a sundress in August, when can you?
Folks, it was FREEZING. Like, seriously freezing. I also took a thick-knit cardigan with me, “just in case”. It’s a cardigan I normally only wear in winter, and which I really didn’t think I’d need, but I was still freezing. And so was Terry, actually, and he wasn’t wearing a sundress
this time, so at least I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t dressed for the weather.
Also, my knickers were on show a lot. A LOT.
Minutes after this photo was taken, Rubin scaled an almost sheer cliff-face, and walked onto the wall of the little harbour (smallest harbour in the UK, fact fans!) there, which was honestly about a million feet high or something. Naturally, I freaked the hell out and started shrieking confusing instructions at him to “COME HERE! NO! STAY THERE! DON’T MOVE! DOOOOOONNNN’T MOOOOOVE!” but Rubin just stared at me, in his “I hear what you’re saying, but I’m going to totally ignore you, and I’m going to do it just because I can,” way. Then he leapt from the harbour wall back to the cliff face, which he then jumped down like a goat, to join a random couple of strangers, who were no doubt quite surprised to suddenly find themselves accompanied by a small white wolf. I, meanwhile, almost collapsed into the harbour myself with relief.
Never work with children or animals, people. Or windy beaches.
(I should probably add here that, despite the aforementioned events, we did have a lovely day out, and as soon as we got home, I rushed straight to the computer to look up East Lothian property prices, just in case they had miraculously become affordable since the last time I looked.)
(I’m definitely going to invest in some “sensible” clothes, though. Like… waterproof jackets. And wellies. And whatever else it is that sensible people wear.)