We reckon we have the best of the UK's weather this week. Nevertheless we're wearing jumpers and waterproofs as we sit on a bench watching and discussing the good patrons of this particular beach. We're using terms like "determined fools" and "only the English", but our voices are filled with a sense of admiration and pride.
We're taking bets on the short-term for cast. Matt's convinced rain is imminent and points to a forbidding patch of sky out to sea. I refuse to believe that the rain is heading in-land, and am keeping the faith for sunshine.
Those on the beach don't seem so optimistic. The human tide is heading our way, all at once - or so it seems - people are rushing to pack up. We're impressed at how efficiently the large group packs up the four-windbreak fortress that surrounds them, we can't help but imagine a somewhat militant patriarch is overseeing the task. Those with the trendy semicircular half-tent type things appear much less smug The pole-wobbling disassembly process looks amateur and dreadfully inelegant. For some reason this gives us a vicarious sense of satisfaction on behalf of the old-school upholders.
And why are all windbreaks blue and yellow these days? We're sure they came in a more joyful variety of colours when we were kids.