We went to the beach last week and it was pretty busy due to the school holidays still in full force. It didn’t stop Little Man from eating as much sand as he possibly could though. I kept trying to open his hands to brush the sand out but who knew he could make such tight fists?

As we walked to get between the safety flags we saw a lifeguard go out on his surf board as someone was caught in a rip, then the helicopter came so it could easily have turned into a scene from Baywatch but luckily the lifeguard was able to swim the person back to a safer spot. Slightly disappointing for me because I’ve always wanted to meet The Hoff (I’m positive he still patrols beaches, and random Australian ones at that).

Hubby and his mum went for a swim (and to risk being eaten by an octopus) whilst I, like most ginger haired people in daylight, tried not to burst into flames under the afternoon sun.

As I sat there with Little Man, huddled in what shade I could find, it got me thinking about my own experience with a life guard when I was a kid. It was our first day of holiday at a caravan park and I fell over and broke my arm on a play area that was furthest away from anywhere. The other kids went to get help and eventually I was carried all the way to the office by the hunky life guard. Good times. Not only did I get a cast but it’s one of my favourite memories! I’m still not sure why I was carried mind you, it was my arm that was hurt not my legs. Maybe it was just a slow day at the pool.

Until next time,



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