Trick of the Light

The day is like a split shift. We nip back home at midday for Ella's lunch and afternoon sleep before heading out again around two o'clock. The sleep situation has improved considerably since I realised the power of peer pressure. She doesn't really want to go to bed but she's much more inclined to do so after I've reeled off a list of her nursery friends who are "going to sleep, just like Ella".

We had a few pleasant hours on the beach at Cloey this afternoon. Ella wanted to go in the pool but announced it was "a bit chilly" and backed out, still clutching her yellow watering can. On the beach, an Asian lady broke wind loudly, which sent a group of twenty-something women into heaps of laughter. They were drinking red wine at three in the afternoon. I felt the slightest twinge of envy, but then Ella offered me half of her Philadelphia cheese sandwich, saying "there y'are Mummy, s'nice and soft" and I realised I wouldn't swap with them for anything.

By 4pm most of the beach was covered in shade, the sand went suddenly cold, three enormous yellow-specked black cockatoos soaring from one side of the cliffs to the other. By 5.15 it's dusk, half an hour later it's dark. The mind plays funny tricks; we expect a long summer's evening on the back of days like these. The light goes out like a switch, we go home and put the lamps on.