It’s time to daydream about moving out of London
My son delights in his new gummy boots – those squishy, rubbery shoes which were invented for kids so they can walk on jagged pebble beaches. I know they sell them for adults, but for some reason we never wear them, even though the majority of British and Irish beaches boast Martian topography. They’re one of those things – like bibs, fish fingers and wet wipes – which we leave behind even though they’re better than every alternative we age into. In this case, the alternative is walking in bare feet across sole-destroying terrain.
We are at the seaside in Worthing to see Auntie Dearbhaile and Uncle David. More specifically, we’re here to meet their new baby, who they’ve named Ailbhe as a direct response to my policy of not explaining Irish name pronunciations.
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