Things We Have Lost

Beaches, on those far-off Irish holidays we took with assorted children and dogs, were generally wild, windswept and deserted. And each had their own personality and took on their own family name.

There was, for example a scruffy bit of coast and harbour at the tip of the Maharees Peninsula, which, on the Irish map, bore the name 'Scraggane' - but to us was always and forever 'Scragend'...

And then there is the beach which goes by a name unknown to me, and is called something banal and descriptive by windsurfers. But for us it was always 'Lost Beach' - so named, not because, like some Irish Brigadoon, it appeared and disappeared out of the mists, nor because we got lost on it.

But for the things we lost on it - I seem to remember Twiggy, a larger and unreliable version of Kitty, tied loosely to the picnic bag, taking-off after some poor unsuspecting pooch, scattering food, drinks and beach-toys as she went...

And so? And so the summer of 2020 is destined to be forever the 'Lost Summer' - not because it has disappeared into the mist and rain (yet), nor because we have got lost, though I fear we have. A bit.

But for what we have lost along the way...