I hate sand. I love the coast; being from Birmingham, it’s always filled me with wonder. My Croatian grandad used to say that if you dipped your toe in the sea, you were connected to the whole world. This idea enchants me still. But I say again, I bloody hate sand. It gets everywhere. In sandwiches on the beach as a kid; in my toenails; in my hair; in every last crevice of my body, including my mind. And once it’s wherever it is, it’s always there.
Who are these people who love to feel the sand between their toes? When I walk on a beach, I am hermetically sealed from the knees down, but somehow it finds its way in. I might get myself a Hazmat suit – whatever it takes. It might be the Croat in me. On the Adriatic it’s all rocks. Some of them are decidedly jagged and sharp and difficult to negotiate. But I’ll take lacerated feet over sandy feet all day long.
