Sandy Chafing

The hottest day of the year so far, and I don't own any short school trousers.
As usual I took Ben home but Wednesday Park was not to be. When life gives you lemons, have a Lemonparty, we are told. But when life gives you 30 degrees, go to the beach.
Ben and I immediately unpacked the bag of delights that Jof had made for us and posed with the double-barrelled shotguns we'd imported from Majorca last year.
So JBsMum dropped them off at mine so she could empty enough out of the car to make room for us and we drove down to the beach while the Carpetman measured our renty house so he could see just how much to charge us for it.
On the beach, Elizabeth joined us as if by magic and even Poppy set up camp 50 yards away, clearly we had claimed the best spot. This was confirmed as during the afternoon several other people we knew came and went.
We all went in the sea and shot each other with the guns and played arrow-tag with the throwing weapon and chucked seaweed at each other and made a sandcastle, well, more of a fort really and we trod on it anyway.
There was food aplenty and drinks and the sun started getting hazy but it was still warm and Jumping George and Fridge Fraser and his brother played attack arrows with us.
All things must come to an end so 3 hours after leaving the house we returned and went straight in the shower due to salty encrustments and sandy chafing of the crevices. I expect we're a bit pink as well, certainly worked hard for my sausages tonight.