The other Saturday we went to a place called Mothecombe Beach. It was one of those experiences that made me stop and realize: I’m smack dab in the middle of perfection. Kurt Vonnegut beat me to it when he said, “If this ain’t nice, I don’t know what is.”
I suppose the magic was heightened by the fact that it was October in the United Kingdom and the weather was hospitable enough for us to enjoy a few hours resting on a warm rock while the spaniel played in the waves. We had the whole place to ourselves for a good long while which made it very easy to play out all sorts of escapist fantasies. I mean, before the first family showed up with their buckets and spades, I was ready to give up modern conveniences and hide there forever all secluded paradise, beautiful savage-like. The couple of families that did show up were sweet, don’t get me wrong, but those few hours alone with all that beauty are something I’ll never forget.