Another shade of grey (I.P.)

Behind the high sand dunes that circle the bay, grey-green tufts of  Marram  grass  conceal the approach of bloated rain filled  clouds  drifting slowly towards the beach.     Office workers with a few minutes to spare loll in deck chairs, ties  askew and slack jawed drinking in the sun. 

Those who have arrived for a week or so stretch out in the sand like kebabs on a spit roast.  Basted in oil they turn in unison every ten minutes to ensure equal browning of the skin.

‘ Had a great time…!’  they will say once back home showing off their tan.

Beneath the pier a man in a white coat sweeps the sand with a metal detector seeking the coins spat out  from the slots above. The high pitch bleeping promising a good harvest.

A sand artist kneels  before his trio of mermaids making the final adjustments to his creation, their kelp hair held in place with shiny pink starfish.

At the kiosk a queue lines up for  greasy fish and chips, mushy peas optional.

For those who want to sit inside the special offer for the day includes  two free slices of white bread with butter and a pot of tea for one.

As they wait their turn to be served they exchange information on the quality of  B&B’s, what’s on at the cinema and  ‘…have you been here before…?’

A huge dark cloud partially eclipses the sun causing all to scan the sky.  ‘ Look’s like it’s going to pour any minute now’  says one.   ‘ It’s been great here all week, sun every day ’  a women with red peeling arms said.   ‘Hey, you in the kiosk, can you get a move on and serve up the chips before we all get soaked’  shouts another down the line.  ‘ Here it comes…’  announces a man wearing a  yellow Kiss me Quick hat.

The horizon slips  rapidly away into oblivion as the sun disappears  completely, replaced by a thick blanket of misty greyness.    The  headland shrinks from view, obscuring any  visible  reference  point for the landlubbers caught short  floating on their rubber rings.  

Red and blue clad life guards haul warning flags aloft and call into the mist giving directions.

Then, the ethnic cleansing of the beach begins, torrential rain floods the sand scattering all for shelter, squeals and curses as towels, buckets, spades  and other personal effects take flight into the air.

 A row of multi coloured beach huts  sway in the wind, doors are hastily closed to the onslaught.

The occupants huddled inside earnestly  discussing  the sudden change in the weather.

'Granddad?‘

' What is it  love? '

'Is this the start of an Indian Summer?'