Mersea Island

The weather has, very suddenly and without warning, arrived. Sunny days to us will now be drives out to Mersea Island in the Beetle, shades on, sandwiches packed, sun cream applied.

The journey in the bug is all lush green fields and the heady smell of rape fields. As you approach the island the smells are replaced by the salty stench of marsh which isn’t that unpleasant.

On Mersea we eat our tuna sandwich pack lunch in the car and get ice creams from the shop. We walk slowly along the pastel coloured beach huts, vowing one day to own one and breathing in the scent of bbqs and seasalt.

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We find a spit of land, not quite yet covered by the incoming tide and I skim my first stone. Round and flat, a strong flick of the wrist.

We take off our shoes and dip our feet in the clear, cold water, watching tiny little fish zigzag around our feet.

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After our paddle we sit on the sand and have a little doze. We amuse ourselves watching a man search for his sunglasses in the sea, whilst his wife berates his stupidity.

When the wind picks up we dust off our feet and head back to the car. We drive around the island, admiring the houses and waving at other classic cars including a teal coloured beetle and red split screen.

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On the way home we stop by the garden centre for some more English Lavdender to fill up the terracotta pots on the patio. The garden has been neglected so a couple of hours is spent tidying front and back, mowing the lawn, weeding, digging over and rearranging. I then spend the next few hours finishing my current amigurumi project in the hammock and listening to The Letter by Kathryn Hughes on audible.

A joint of beef is simmering in the slowcooker on a bed of roughly chopped carrots, onion and thyme for gravy. Some floury roast potatoes and cabbage will go well with these. Along with homemade gravy of course.

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Once dinner is eaten and the remains of the day tidied away, we settle to watch comforting Sunday telly with the patio doors flung wide open.

 


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