I wake to the sound of seagulls and the light poking through the gaps in the blinds.

I lounge about with tea and my book.

I usually blow dry my hair and put on make up.

Every. Single. Day.

But I had made a big decision – that wasn’t necessary when camping.  Make up is interesting and I have wondered often why I do it – but if I catch sight of myself in a mirror without it – then I soon know why!

So my morning routine was short and uncomplicated.  A bowl of cereal and a hot cross bun and I was ready.

I heft on my rucksack with my binoculars and my bottle of water and head off.  I grew up walking distance from the beach and am never happier than when I can feel the salt air on my face.  I never cease to marvel at the sheer power of the sea and the certainty that we will never be able to hold it back.

The first part of my walk is witness to that – enormous sea defences reduced to rubble, walls felled and paths destroyed.  Walking on sand is hard and I was glad to get on slightly firmer ground.  The sheep watched me and the cattle looked on suspiciously.  I watched the deer from a distance.  I wish I knew more about the birds that I saw, so many going busily about their day.

I took pictures but they never capture the atmosphere do they?  I paused and I realised that I was happy.

I was on my own, but not lonely.

I felt strong and capable.

Independent and resourceful in a way that I hadn’t felt for years.

I walked past the lighthouse (I can see this from the beach at Cleethorpes where I swim) and right to the far end.  I now know that I could have walked right round – maybe next time.  Sitting on a rock I hoped I looked mermaid like but suspected not.  I had walked five miles and of course, had another five to do to get back.  Once again, thank goodness for the gym and for the daily 12,000 steps.  It was a glorious day despite being mid March and I thanked God for strength and resilience.

I’m not going to lie, I was glad to get to the café and have a well earned cup of tea and a late lunch.  And a great conversation with a lady in the gift shop.  She told me about how she had been attacked a year ago but was now able to walk on her own to the lighthouse again.

Us older women are bread tough you know.

The last mile to the van was hard but it was so great to see it there, my home from home.  The good thing is that once I got settled there was really nothing to do but read.

Such luxury.

No washing to sort, no dishes to do (I was taking them back with me) – no chores at all.  So I had a glass of wine (chilled in the cool box) and relaxed.

In the morning I packed up and set off.

This blog is written by Marion, hosted by Carrie

No fuss, no bother, away I went.