Just occasionally come days of wonder. Saturday was such a day. I ran for 5.5k and was thereby bathed in that ridiculous warmth of self-reighteousness that comes with even mild athletic endeavour. In the company of my favourite person we headed for Seahouses, a place which deserves the old-fashioned description of being jolly. We found a parking space and the pay and display ticket machine actually worked - often they don't for me. We then collected our tickets for the Billy Shiel's boat trip to the Farne Islands.
The sea betrayed a slight swell, enough to make the outward journey exciting, those sitting in the exposed areas getting a souvenir soaking from flying spray. Seals were observed as they basked on the rocks. At Inner Farne we disembarked (that makes it sound rather grand but work with me here) and spent an hour observing closely the nesting birds, most photogenically the puffins. This was not tamed nature, this was nature in the raw, right down to the feisty Arctic Terns who peck your head (wear a hat!) to remind you just whose domain this is. Brilliant. The return voyage (again there's me being rather grand) skirted the threatening rain.
But that was not all. I have ventured the opinion before that Lewis's in Seahouses serves the world's best fish and chips. Saturday's gargantuan portion did nothing to disabuse me of this view, although, in the spirit of journalistic completeness, we should record that the Groupie was not so convinced and seemed to be favouring Bennlech's Golden Fry for the world title. No matter that slight controversy. Days of wonder.
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