Sunday passed as if in a dream, as hazy as the ancient watery glass in the old Rectory Palace. It had started unnecessarily early with a 4.30am wake up by my ridiculous head wanting to see the sunrise over the sea.
I indulged it and threw clothes over my nightie, and headed for the beach. I sat on the jetty in my own private world of blue monochrome; I had no idea that there were so many blues. From slate, to steel, to the palest woodpigeon feather streaks - the sun was inventing new shades all the while. Nothing was stirring when I got there but eventually gulls and swifts added movement to the colour.
Once my head was satisfied that the sea was really there, I returned to collapse into bed. A few hours, it told me, and we could go jump into the water. Yay, I agreed sleepily, now shut up and sleep. So it did until it was bouncing up and down at about 8.
Grabbing the bare minimum - costume and wrap - I headed to the sandy beach which was now drenched in yellows and greens; the sun had clearly stopped by the Windsor & Newton paint shop to replenish supplies, having overdosed on blue earlier. Apart from the odd local walking their dog, there was no one to admire my graceful entrance; like a reverse Botticelli's Venus, I sank into the sea.
Who am I kidding? I dashed in like I usually do, with the finess of a large dog, or overenthusiastic walrus. It was blissful and I enjoyed every gulp of salt wash and splash. I lay back to admire the mountains above, and the greenery surrounding the beach. I resolved to do nothing but swim, read, eat, write, drink, stroll - a perfect holiday Sunday.