George and I went to Pobbles as it's the best beach for driftwood but the selection was a bit disappointing. I wanted to make a cross for Zac's and I deliberately wanted to use material washed up amongst the flotsam and jetsam. I tried out a few pieces and finally settled on two that I brought home with me, along with some ragged rope. It's strange: when I picked up the wood I thought, 'This isn't too heavy'; by the time we reached the top of the hill it felt as if I were carrying a hundredweight of coal. It must be a gravity thing. Or something.