Submarines, sharks & slipping on the seaweed

Submarine? Or shark?

Living at the coast has some obvious advantages.
Forget, for a moment, the gale-force winds that left The G unable to stand up straight one afternoon last week and the unbearable din that accompanies Seagull Mating Season.
Taking everything into consideration, more often than not, we do like to be beside the seaside.
Yesterday, for instance, post-morning music group, time enough for a short outing.
Into the car, head up the coast, indulging in a little light boat spotting en route.
The B, at one point, thought he'd sighted something unusual out at sea.
"It's a submarine," he squealed.
Cue a discussion that came to an abrupt end after I suggested that it had perhaps been a boat after all.
"But a submarine is a boat," he said.
That was me told.
Two or three minutes later, when he spotted some dolphins, whales and a shark (14 in total, he said), I chose to remain quiet.
"Do 42 sea creatures live in the sea?" he persisted.
"There might be even more than that," I said.
"49?" he asked.
Before I could address the issue, we'd reached our final destination, an attraction that I've been meaning to visit for ages.
Disembarking, The G looked up at it in awe and pointed.
"Big one," she said, impressed.
"Big what?" I encouraged.
"Big That," she replied and set off towards it at top speed (for the record, in wellies, that's not that fast).
I left it to The B to inform her that the Big That in question was, in fact, a lighthouse.
"Grandpa Rabbit lives in a lighthouse," he added, suggesting that he has learned more from Peppa Pig than he has from me in recent times.
It had been our plan to climb right to the top but, having crossed the causeway, we found the lighthouse closed.
Never fear, we retraced our steps and spent the subsequent hour flinging stones into the deep pools that the retreating sea had left behind.
Much more fun, rocks and water, a never-ending supply, just another coastal benefit.
So all in all, an enjoyable outing.
That is, until The G lost her footing on some seaweed and disappeared into a rock pool.
Time for a sharp exit, home again, her coat bound for the laundry, the third time this week (impressive, given that it was only Wednesday).
It's that time of year, the washing machine is working hard to earn its keep.
Living at the coast, as we do, it has to.