And Husband chooses this moment to say, 'Did I tell you about the woman who was killed by a herd of stampeding cows recently?'
As we get closer he says, 'That looks like a bull.' And he's a man who knows about these things having worked on a farm in a previous life. 'No, it can't be,' he reassures me. 'Let's give them a wide berth anyway,' he says, worrying me. He always pooh-poohs my cow fears. As a rule.
George chooses this moment to run down the slope towards the cows/bulls startling them, making them jump. I spent a childhood watching Rawhide; I know what sudden noises do to cattle. I get a brief vision of what it would be like to be trampled by hundreds (well, tens) of cow hooves.
But they settle down and resume chewing. I smile and say, 'Nice moo cows,' and we all live to tell the tale.
We were on our way to Pobbles where the best driftwood gets washed up. I needed some to make a cross for Zac's; the last pieces we'd gathered were too big I'd decided. Sadly, as well as the driftwood and seaweed, the beach was littered with plastic of all sorts. Please recycle it!
From Pobbles you can walk up the hill and look across beautiful Three Cliffs bay.