A late start, but this time it was my turn to lounge about in my feted pit.
We eventually made it out around midday and walked along the shoreline towards Bembridge. This turned out to be a bad idea. The stink of the seaweed and the slimy rocks made it very hard going. Racing the approaching tide we made it back to civilisation just in time.
Just up from the beach, tiny huts clung onto the cliff almost as if the sea had tossed them up onto the shore. Some of them seemed as if they were functional; perhaps for fishermen to store their nets. Others gave more of the impression, that they were used for pleasure purposes.
After a spot of lunch at Framton’s Café (which was great) we walked into St Helens. Along the harbour wall are dozens of houseboats; some no more than prefabs on a pontoon but most are proper boats you could put to sea. “No worries about sea level rise for them”, Paul quipped.
On the way back, the sun finally started to shine. We followed the coastal path and were treated to glorious views over the bay. In the distance, a trumpet played as if sounding the last post on our holiday.