Three-eyed Fish

Today I have sore arms.

I went to a number of beaches on Saturday because the predicted weather was a lot better than the real weather. The real weather was very windy, cloudy and slightly cold. The predicted weather was hot, hot, hot and not very cloudy.

So the fat lad and I did a mini tour of beaches in Norfolk (including – for three-eyed fish intrigue – Sizewell beach – where, believe it or not, small children were swimming, while their parents looked on – either happily oblivious of the great white golfball looming over the beach or, rather more sinisterly, aware of it and still condoning small-child-swimage. I’m not sure which to be more worried about).

Anyway, it was at above-mentioned three-eyed fish beach that the development of today’s sore arms occurred. Not feeling tempted by the menacing waters, thus eliminating the possibility of traditional beach pastime 1 - paddling toes in very cold water followed by running out screaming – traditional beach pastime 2 had to be adopted – stone throwing.

An Aside
I know what you lot are thinking – that given my affinity for children the stones were being thrown in their general direction. Well you’re wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I was throwing them solely at the water, with the intention of hitting only the water. Now can I help it if I’m a bad thrower and some of them head off in the direction of said horrible objects of noise? No. I can’t.

So, a stone throwing competition ensued. Of course a normal stone throwing competition would not be fair – I’m a girl, after all (which I was reminded after having thrown a few stones and being told “you throw like a girl” yes, I am a girl, I would do, wouldn’t I?).

Anyway, it turns out that all things being equal, I am the better thrower (all things being equal meaning both of us throwing with our left hands) and that the fat lad also throws like a girl. But only with his left hand.