Diary of a dog walk

Wished I had just gone out in a t-shirt, because although the air was cool when I left the house, I quickly realised a had worn too many layers.

Trekked through the streets, voices drifting through windows.

Walked through the park, squinting into the sun made everything before me look monochrome. Could hear traffic in the distance, grumbling like a hostile crowd. Smell of cut grass.

Onto the beach at last. The sea was warmed by the sun today, and the smell instantly took me back to childhood; paddling in shallow pools, the optimism of a little fishing net on a thin bamboo stick, gritty sandwiches, most likely cucumber and paste. Nine other dog walkers today (Where DO these dogs go in the winter?). Low tide, but almost no sand. Sun on my back. The dog paddled.

Off the beach, round the back of the Rose Gardens. Beautiful trees, tiny heroic birds chasing off a magpie. A bunch of pigeons picnicking on scattered breadcrumbs.

Through Cumberland House Gardens. Squirrels taunting the dog, hello fig tree. A puppy came to say hello. My dog momentarily pretended to be grown up and nonchalant, which seemed to impress the puppy enormously.

Another trek through the streets, finally squinting into the sun once more (much higher now), and back.

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