It hasn’t been a resounding success. I keep falling off the pony. "You’ve got one leg over the pony and a double bacon roll in your hand," said the Casanova (a judgy lapsed vegan), but really I’m just leading the pony of vegetarianism around by its virtue-signalling bridle.
Oh well, other things have been more successful. I spent most of the holiday down at the boat shed. It was a slow news day when I won the auction last year so the purchase price became a kind of news story, meaning people now walk past on the path and talk about how much I paid for it. The price keeps going up. It’ll be a half a million by the end of summer.
Folding back the rickety boat shed doors frames a window on a scene. People float in and out of this scene on various craft and they always look in and say hello. Last year was a shocker so to begin with I’d hide to avoid talking, or pretend to be engrossed in my book. Noise transmitted by water ... I have been listening instead.
The delicate ecological balance has been disrupted by the arrival of three Australian sirens in scarlet thong bikinis, long of leg and locks, who set up a sunbathing station on the next boat shed along. They are wrecking the heads of two teenage boys who zoom past them all day long, standing up in small motorboats like hormonal Venetian gondoliers. "You could at least follow me back on Instagram," said one peevishly. "I don’t think it’s fair."
The siren tossed her long blonde hair - it would never be fair.
Because nothing says Christmas like Die Hard-style shredded and bleeding feet, the cockle shells slice mine to ribbons when I walk my paddleboard into the estuary. Angry as methed-up day drinkers, the paddle crabs hunker their back legs into the sand and raise pincers against my shadow as I pass above: "Want a go, bro?"
A shag struggles to gulp down a prize flounder bigger than its beak can manage.
Every day is punctuated by the skitter, skitter kedunk kerdunk of a doggy visitor. Shaggy with sea salt and sand, a random pooch rounds the corner at speed only to encounter my misanthropic vibe. "My mistake," their eyes say as they skitter off again.
A boat shed will cure you of reclusive tendencies though, because your friends will come out and bring their children and have barbecues and talk about life as they dangle their legs over the edge of the deck, watching the mullet shoals and putting sunblock on shoulders and noses.
I swim in the sea every day in my sensible black onesie, from my side of the estuary to the sand bank that appears at low tide.
My feet heal and toughen up and I begin to say hello to the beach folk who pass by on paddleboards, in rowboats and kayaks.
On the last morning of my holiday I woke to the boom of the surf. The tide was rushing out. The surf was far too big to be enjoyable on a paddleboard, so I just paddled to the mouth for a look. Surfers were walking the path on the other side, boards under their arms.
Suddenly I heard a loud exhale at my feet, a sound that is only made by an ocean mammal. "Oh f...," I thought. I bet it’s a seal. I hate seals. They are dicks.
But it wasn’t a seal. It was the biggest sea lion in the world. A massive black mountain, rising up out of the water beside me like Godzilla, snorting.
It took less than a second for me to land on the sand, undo my leash and sprint halfway down the beach, abandoning my board. Turns out sea lions are fantastic performance enhancers.
As I retreated, walking backwards, he kept coming towards me. The surfers on the path across the way stopped saying "Mate" to watch things unfold. I held my paddle upright, uselessly. My heart actually hammered.
Eventually he got bored and heaved himself away up into the sand dunes for a nap.
I was too scared to go back for my board so I just stood there, breathing heavily until one of the surfers, Australian of accent, paddled across and rescued my board for me.
Looking backwards fearfully the entire time, I made my way back to the boat shed, adrenalised by my encounter with the beast of the deep. Me and the cockles, alive, alive oh.
That’s the thing about paradise, it’s better when you share it.
