The fog eases as we come off the bottom of the mountain, but the cloud remains, and tracks us all the way to the beach. We unfold ourselves from the car, and shake the travel from our limbs as we attempt to keep the children in check and pull bags and baskets from the boot, pretending to ignore the breeze that at times borders on chilly. “Look! Mummy! The beach!” and then we are off, across the grass, down the path and onto the beach. Bags of spades upended, damp sand clinging to hands applying sunscreen, waves crashing in and begging to be paddled in. The clouds part, the sun emerges. The day warms rapidly. A brief break for fish and chips, and back to the sand to build volcanoes and draw cactuses and paddle in warm waves rolling in near our feet. The breeze is no longer chilly, but the only thing keeping the day from becoming stifling. Reluctantly, three small people submit their sand-caked feet to the tap, clamber into their seats, and despite their protests, are asleep before the highway.