It’s 1979. I’m 14. Loose-limbed and gangly, though not especially tall.
My hair falls below my ears and probably only gets a wash when I swim. I’m in on holiday, abroad as a family for the first time, finally escaping the usual fortnight of rain-dodging in the UK.
The beach is a short drive away. Flat and wide with fine sand, backed by grass-flecked dunes, wild Atlantic rollers crashing onto the beach beyond. Aside from the mews of seagulls and other birds, it’s peaceful, relaxing and idyllic.
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