Big toys and little toys

Still a small boy and given the freedom to roam the seaside town and countryside where I grew up I soon came to the realisation that toys are not essential so long as freedom was there to enjoy a choice.
Included in the list was the catapult, the air rifle, roller skates, box-cart, canoe, swim fins, model aeroplanes and chemistry set. I was lucky enough to have them all and another I only now dare admit to:  I.E.D.s that had the potential to do grave harm to life and limb. Fortunately, common sense demanded they were used with discretion.
I was led to believe that the best years of life are the early years, but I think quite the opposite to be true in my case. Not always so but in the latter years the toys are bigger, bolder and give the freedom to roam further and faster.
They include the open top sports car, the sailing dinghy, the cameras and the freedom to use them all as and when the mood is moved.
My most recent toy; an upgraded camera and today the early shoot of  dawn, yet to show the benefits of an instruction manual running to five hundred pages.

Sunrise over Teignmouth Golf Course

Mog in the Fog

Clear up here at 700 feet on Teignmouth Golf Course but down at sea level mist blocks out the sun.

At sea level all is veiled in fog this chill October morning.

Looking west towards Dartmoor

No balls and no buggies

Looking east out over the sea

Dinghy Racing v Morgan Pootles - The two passions.

Saturday's Regatta event began at 9am and continued with three races back to back on the Teign Estuary in a 12 mph breeze from the sea. A beautiful morning with the Kriiyyeee of Arctic Terns in the air. Sundays three races were sailed in a force 3/4 and some long beats and several capsizes for the unwary.

Aching legs from the efforts laid me low for the rest of the weekend but Sea Bass for tea caught by Max should replenish the spent muscle.

If anything beats a pootle in the Mog its the combat of dinghy racing, being tested or bested by friends and rivals in this glorious indian summer.

Moored up in St Ives

Tuesday sees me fully recovered from the weekend and Helen and me take ourselves down to Exmouth for mushrooms on toast at the harbourside cafe and a brief shop for new wet suit booties.

Looking back, feeling fortunate to have arrived just here.
Born 1943 in Bristol with bombs  falling round about; to a mother whose nursing job was retrieval of metal swarf from the eyes of factory workers.
A "blue" baby discarded as non-viable until breathed upon by my mother, not before a good chilling on a cold marble slab. My surveyor father was on the other side of the country and coupons were saved to buy dried egg and bananas. A milk allergy and much vomiting resulted in umbilical hernia. Aged four, my tonsils were removed but shortly after, I was hastily ferried back to hospital due to blood loss.
At 18 wrote off a mini (very silly of me). At 50 my heart missed a few beats. Faltering attempts to keep up in the surf at Porthmeor was the earliest indication of heart block. I was later paced with a battery.  Circumstances then conspired in a perfect storm to send me through two harrowing episodes of despondency. At 55 some nasal polyps required the surgeon's knife,

 At 70 three hemorrhoids led to another minor surgical procedure and a slightly uncomfortable week (one tiny rubber band recovered - two  lost).
Helen will not approve of this disclosure but for what its worth I marvel at the extraordinary medical advances that improve the quality of life.

I treated myself to a second hand sewing machine some months ago and so far have made cushions, roman blinds, bunting, 1 rabbit toy, 3 soft elephants, penguin, squid, 1 nessie,  2 whales, 1 quilt and a sail (for the pram dinghy), 

With orders for more bunting and cushions I shall soon be paying  another visit to the Heathcote Mill at Tiverton.

Lamp newly completed