By: Blonde Two
There are many ways to wake up on a Sunday morning. For one very dedicated DofE friend of ours, this Sunday was one of those, ‘I’ve only just crawled into my sleeping bag and it is still dark,’ ones. We Blondes have plenty of those lined up for the next 12 months (although hopefully with a lot more sleep). For most people, however, Sunday morning usually includes a bit longer in bed and a slightly larger than usual breakfast.
I wanted both of these last Sunday but I also wanted to make sure that, having stayed at home working all day on Saturday, I got the necessary amount of exercise medicine and spent some time outside with Mr B2 all before coming home to do other important Sunday things like baking bread (him), eating bread (mostly me), catching up with blog posts (me) and watching the Grand Prix (definitely not me!)
With all of that in mind, I concocted a plan that involved a walk down a hill, a swim, a walk back up the hill and a trip to our new favourite and very reasonable Torquay breakfast cafe, The Bay Tree Cafe.
The sea mist was just hanging in the air enough to freshen our faces but not soak our jackets and the smell, as we set off down the hill towards Oddicombe Beach was intoxicating, all autumn leaves and seaweed. Only South Devon seems capable of producing that unique combination of beach and woodland smells.
It was, for a rather cloudy autumn morning, quite busy at the beach. There were lots of dogs, all celebrating the fact that the day before had been the last day of summer dog beach bans, there were people clearing out their (apparently TARDIS-like beach huts) and the sailing club were setting off in hope of finding some wind.
Although another swimmer did come along just after I had finished, I was the only person swimming. I kept clear of the boats and enjoyed a good few half lengths of the beach. The water was mainly clear but with a milky tinge to it, the waves were doing my favourite gentle undulations and the water was (still) marvellously warm (it has been recently measuring 18 degrees.) More importantly, I didn’t swim into any of the Portuguese Men of War, which have been washing up on Devon and Cornwall beaches for the last few weeks.
After changing and chatting with the next swimmer about Sammy the Babbacombe Seal and how we didn’t really want to meet him in the water. Mr B2 and I had a brisk (for me but fairly plodding for him) walk back up the hill and over to the cafe for breakfast.
Sunday breakfast, I find, always tastes better if you have been outside and done a bit of exercise before you indulge in it.