So we made it into Twenty Eleven. Amazing. We went for a walk along the beach this afternoon. It was grey and cold, but beautiful as it always is. It was more of a hobble than a walk. Poor Captain B is on a stick and my back is hurting. There was a whole pack of dogs with their owners on the sands - small white poodly dogs and large black dobermanny dogs. We wondered if they would tear us down and finish us off - to spare us a slow death by starvation on the beach as our hunting days are obviously over.
Maurice the Mussel says he has no time for dogs. And I can understand his point of view. At any moment they might do something dreadful on his head.
I hope to be getting back into my routine now - meeting at The Hall yesterday - lovely to have Maggie back - and out on the field service with Audrey tomorrow.