A lovely day was had at the beach today just me and my two year old son Logan making the most of the fine weather, however as usual the day was not without its unexpected events.
Logan had been a real star and walked for ages without wanting to be picked up, except he cunningly saved this normally intermittent request for the entire journey back, deciding he wanted me to carry him the whole length of the beach back to the car park. Fortunately for Logan I’m well known for my endless athleticism and physical stamina.
By the time I arrived dramatically over the dunes with Logan over my shoulder, backpack in other hand, I resembled something from Saving Private Ryan, purple faced and gasping out my victory of the carpark being near by.
Just as I was about to put Logan down I noticed to my horror he was missing one of his new wellies. I couldn’t believe it, I’d have to go back.
I could see by Logan’s face what he was thinking.
“Leave it Daddy, it’s not worth it”
But I was still in war hero mode “No, I’m going back for it”
“It’s gone Daddy, don’t go back’
“No one get’s left behind!” I cried.
I was a soldier now (Which translated to “Your mother will fucking kill me if I go home with out it”)
I threw Logan back over my shoulder and launched back over the dunes, into battle.
In pure slow motion my courageous welly rescue began, not slow motion because it was dramatic or film like, just that I’m shit at anything physical and each step took me fucking ages. My difficult run on dry sand and pebbles meant I was running like a startled Ostrich with chafing ball sores.
Grenades in the form of tennis balls landed at my feet, kicking up a explosions of sand, thrown by half arsed lazy dog walkers with those shite claw stick things which mean they don’t have to bend over their lazy as fuck arses to pick up the ball and throw it again, I dodged the incoming artillery fire.
I continued my daring dash across the beach, a rousing orchestral soundtrack was now playing in my head, or maybe it was an aneurysm.
Trundling on I glanced down and to my horror “Landmine!”
A massive steaming dog shite, which i can only assume was curled out by some sort of buffalo. I hurdled over it, just clearing the slender Mr Whippy finish at it’s summit where it had been nipped off, smashing some orbiting flies in the face with my olympian feet. This was Cacksaw Ridge, and I was Daveheart, they may shite on our beaches but they’ll never take my Welly.
I came crashing down with so much force I thought I’d burrow through the beach end up in Australia. I could see walkers checking that the tide hadn’t suddenly withdrawn and fucked off out to sea, my elephant like landing causing some sort of mega Tsunami.
i sprinted on, and by sprint I mean I walked a bit faster than usual and exaggerated my arm swings. Finally I saw it…The missing Welly.
“Therrrrrrre iiiit isssss” I cried, my voice deep and also slow motion, again not through the cause of any dramatic effect, just I was having some sort of exhaustion stroke now.
I grabbed the missing Welly, pulling it from the grips of the sand, I saved it’s Sole..I turned, and headed back to safety out of the war zone.
To even my surprise we arrived once again over the dunes, away from the battle and the safety of the car in sight once more.
Then, suddenly to my horror I realised something else was missing. Where’s the camera, we came with the camera?!
“Leave it Daddy, it’s not worth it!” Cried Logan…
I paused, weighing up the situation. “Aye, you’re right son, let’s go to McDonalds on the way back”