Feeling Pretty Alkaline

They are on my beach now, yes they are.

Suddenly spring has sprung here in south-west Wales and instead of being windswept and buffeted it is blow-dried and manicured, but still on west-walian time.

I refer of course to the tourists, who god bless them, bring in the tourist pounds euros and dollars and keep this corner of god's green acre in underwear and latex mini-gloves.

I was almost shocked when coming along the sandy path that spills out through buckthorn trees onto the top of the beach, because there in front of my personage were people.

But not just any people mind you, say walking their dogs or throwing stones, or the dedicated runners who run for ultimate pleasure and solemnity, but holidaymakers!

Lots of them. Holidaymaking.

How dare they! I felt like the grumpy farmer shaking his angry fist and saying 'gerroffmoiland!'

This of course means that the tourist season has begun, the boarding houses and hotels are all being painted and the caravan parks are cutting their grass.

Soon people will flock to this beach and you won't be able to move for creamy bodies and mewling babbies. Ah well, good luck to them.