Sand is a toe warmer … 


Sand is a toe-warmer. Unless it’s cold and damp. Then it’s a rheumatoid arthritis inflicter. 

Sand is a moving nail file, an emery board extraordinaire, smoothing away the rough edges of dead bits of feet and getting under nails. 

Sand is a never ending bumpy, lumpy, shifting, softly undulating yet sometimes quite flat and hard desert. 

Sand is an infinity of potentials: potential castles, trenches, holes, moats, snakes and animals – potentially anything your hand can turn to your mind’s imaginings. 

Sand is an unwitting irritant, plaguing your mouthfuls of lunch at the beach. 

Sand is a reminder that grit endures – unfortunately often in the creases of one’s thighs or elsewhere that is equally uncomfortable. 

Sand is a treasure trove for hunters with metal detectors, searching for ancient artefacts. 

Sand is a money box for lost ten pence pieces. 

Sand is the lost and found department of the ocean, where all sorts of things wash up. 

Sand is a people magnet, with windbreaks, beach towels, deckchairs and half-tents, buckets, spades, sun-hats and cool-bags, ice-creams and frisbees, factor 20 and total sunblock. 

Sand is a welcome mat for swimmers returning and boats arriving – a diplomat of meet and greet. 

Sand is a hiding place, for lovers and nudists. 

Sand is also a litter tray. 

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