"That's a larvlee cardie' you gart there," Mrs Sparrow ventured, rubbing Miss Cormorant's black lambswool cardigan with her thin spindly fingers. Miss Cormorant did not seem to take this intrusion amiss at all, but proceeded to embark on an extended paean concerning the manifold virtues of her cardigan. These included: the colour (black, doesn't show marks); texture (lambswool, folds easily into a handbag without creasing); weight (light, perfect for breezy summer's day). All the while Mrs Sparrow continued to rub the garment, interjecting the occasional phatic affirmative phrase - "yehs breezy; lambswool... lahvley; ooh sarft." Finally she brought things to a close with a cheery, "Must be arf!" As the two old birds fluttered away Mrs Sparrow left dangling in the air a question of profound mystery, "You can't sneeze at a good cardie', now can you?"
|At one end of the beach - the Container Port|
|Which then becomes a slightly sedate resort|
|Then an almost deserted beach|
|Poppies by the roadside - too lovely not to stop for a photo|