A day at the seaside.

The alarm wakes me at five, outside it is breaking day, inside Norman is still snoring gently in his basket. I leave him there, as I slide into my slippers and dressing gown, before making my way to the kitchen, where the central heating controller is situated and switching the radiators on. I make coffee and fry a couple of double yolk eggs, which I eat over rye toast, the smell of food brings Norman to the kitchen, but there are no eggs for him, as they upset his digestion, so he has to eat Bakers again. After breakfast, I shower and dress and then make the bed, before leaving the house around ten minutes to seven, in order to drive to Sarah's house. Sarah is busy drying her hair and Louis is playing a football game on his Nintendo DS, when I arrive, they have had a good Easter holiday in Scotland and she looks better for the break. Alice travelled down to London from Perth to meet Andrew, Laura and Rebecca yesterday. Andrew had a corporate box for the One Dimension concert, sorry that should have been One Direction, a Freudian slip, but I will leave it in. They are driving back today and should be in Beverley for tea time, meanwhile Louis and I have the day to ourselves. As usual, my grandson has the day planned out, I just need to fulfil his wishes, these start with a full English breakfast, which he eats with relish, while I chat with him and drink tea. After breakfast, I run him a bath, wash and shampoo his hair, then dress him in warm clothing, before we take Norman for his morning walk. Louis wants to ride his scooter, so we reprise our usual school walk, the pavement opposite Sarah's house becomes separated from the main road by a boulevard of trees, that lead to Bleach Yard, which is usually free of traffic, except for the occasional horse box. The ground rules are that Louis may scoot ahead, but must not cross any side roads without my presence and he abides by these rules, occasionally hurtling back to us to show off his scooting prowess. It is another cold, dry, day with the easterly wind dominating the weather again and we both have rosy cheeks by the time we complete the one mile circuit to school and back. After some negotiation we have agreed to drive to the coast and play football on the beach at Bridlington. We leave just before eleven, Louis in his car seat and Norman, wearing his blue coat, sat on a blanket on the back seat. It takes about half an hour to get to the coast, but when we arrive, signs warn of roadworks on South Marine Drive, so we drive to North Bay and park a few yards from the beach, on Sands Lane. North Beach is covered in large pebbles and has almost become a pebble beach, this is a fairly recent phenomenon, as a boy I remember it being sandy, but as it stands, it is not much use for football, and to make matters worse, the tide is almost in. In 1956, my brother and I holidayed here, along with my Aunty Rene, my Grandma Oldroyd and my great Aunt Ruth. It was just a few weeks after my mother died, I was ten years old and Graham was three. Aunty Rene paid for everyone to stay at the Revelstoke hotel, which is just around the corner from where we are now. The memory is prompted by a recollection of playing in a tunnel that runs under the promenade to the beach from the hotel, and where we played at high tide that year, the road being half covered in fine sand. We are less than fifty feet from the spot and when we arrive there, it is free of pebbles and still covered with sand for the first thirty feet or so. It is also mercifully sheltered from the biting wind when we descend from the promenade onto the beach and then move into the tunnel. It is an unconventional pitch, but fine for playing football with a five year old and we spend a happy hour there. Louis likes playing penalty shoot outs, and so we take it in turns at being in goal, while the other person takes penalty shots. The only problem we encounter is that Normy insists on joining me in the goal, however Louis' shooting power is insufficient to do him much harm and he survives, although he did save one shot. It is now a long time since my breakfast, at half past five, and the thought of eating fish and chips in the harbour, which is also sheltered from the wind, is foremost in my mind. To get there however, we have to walk through the amusement park, that separates us from the harbour, and of course Louis wants to play on the rides, so I tell him he can have five pounds worth of tokens, that have to be purchased to pay for the attractions, and once that is gone, we will go for lunch. The first ride he chooses is the Aqua Balls, an inflatable plastic spheres in which children are enclosed, before being pushed out onto a pool. It costs seven tokens, £3.50, but the man in charge is the same one that sold Louis his tokens and he kindly lets him on for five, so that he has enough for another ride. Louis tumbles about for ten minutes and somehow manages to emerge, dry and in one piece, before joining the queue for a caterpillar shaped, small roller coaster. Despite the cold, there are quite a few people about and I stand with the mums and dads while the children laugh and shriek, as the ride bobs up and down the dips. Louis has one token left, which isn't much use, as the cheapest ride is three tokens, so we save it for next time. The sun has come out and in the harbour, out of the wind, it is pleasantly warm. I leave Louis with Norman, sat on a bench, while I queue for fish and chips. When I return with the hot food, we have been joined by a woman from Doncaster, who tells me she has just lost her husband to lung cancer, and is spending Easter week in the caravan that they bought here. She seems to enjoy watching Louis eat and the way that both of us keep slipping Normy bits of haddock and the odd chip. Louis can't finish his meal, as he is still feeling the effects of his full English, but Norman and I soon solve his problem. At the end of the jetty, where we are sitting, a fishing coble has been rigged out as a pirate ship and is selling a short trip into the bay at a pound a time. We usually have a ride when we come to Bridlington, but I don't know if little sea dogs are allowed, and so I tell Louis to sit tight with Normy, while I use the toilet and then I will ask when I come back. When I return, child and dog have both disappeared, but knowing Louis, I check the pirate ship first. Both are aboard, waiting for me, I should be grumpy, but decide to let it go and climb on board and sit next to them, the dog jumping straight on to my knee. As soon as we leave the harbour, the northeasterly wind is in our face and the sea is choppy with a nasty confluence of wind and high tide. Louis and Norman seem unperturbed and I am grateful for a hot dachshund to keep my legs warm, mercifully the trip only lasts fifteen minutes and three pounds and one pirate flag later, we are safely back on shore. We make our way slowly back to the car through town, carefully avoiding the amusements and then drive home the scenic way over the Wolds. About five miles inland from Bridlington, is a village called Rudston, that has a monolith in its churchyard, which I have often seen signposted, but have never actually seen. We park up down School Lane, and enter All Saints churchyard, the monolith is on the opposite side of the pretty Norman church. It stands a full fifteen feet above ground and a plaque says that it was probably quarried from the Whitby area, about forty miles away and brought here. Clearly this site has been used for worship for over two thousand years, in a hole in the stone, probably resulting from weathering, someone has placed an artificial butterfly. I only discover it is artificial, when the wind blows it down, it is a pale lemon colour with gold frosting and quite pretty. After showing it to Louis, I put it in another hole in the stone but on the lee side and then we return to the car. Immediately we set off, Norman starts to whimper and I realise that he hasn't had a drink since breakfast, so we stop in the next village, Kilham, and I fill a bowl that I keep in the boot of the car from the village pond. He drinks it empty and then we continue on our way back to Beverley. Sarah arrives home at five and Alice is dropped off by Andrew shortly afterwards, she says that the concert was great. By now my long day and the early start are catching up with me, so I leave and drive home, where I open Norman a tin and make tea and toast with honey for me. After tea, I finish Philip Roth's "American Pastoral", an unusual and impressive novel, whose differing but linked characters offer separate perspectives on the dystopian, other side, of the American Dream. It is set around the time of Nixon's impeachment, but ranges back over the post war years, it is both a sociological and psychological analysis of the period. A very good book. To bed for ten.