It's odd, this blogging lark. Everyone loves a picture of a ruined picnic, but introduce an Incan lord who dismembers his dead enemies and you all run off, appalled. Only two commenters were brave enough to stay on my last post, and even then they just made nervous remarks about tents before creeping away.
I have to say, I'm disappointed in you. You've never met anyone who made you want to kill them and then turn their head into a drinking vessel? Or their teeth into a charm bracelet? Even those of you who actually make charm bracelets? In my opinion, everyone is carrying around an unhealthily low level of suppressed rage.
Or maybe it was the history. You were alarmed by the sheer intellectualism.
I suppose I'll just have to try and win you round with pictures of children on beaches.
Look at this little beachcomber. What's that she's carrying? Could it be the Nick Baker Pond and Rock Pool Kit? You thought I was kidding when I said I'd planned a holiday around an unused toy?
During a week on Anglesey we nearly killed ourselves with the fun. Bike rides. Pony rides. Boat rides. A stately home. A model village. Castles - more than once. One day we went to a whole day at Beaumaris Castle where people dressed up as knights and pretended it was the Middle Ages and - oh, sorry, there I go with the history! Don't worry, I won't bother you with that again.
But oddly, most of the pictures we came home with were pictures of beaches. Those moments, wandering among the sand and rocks on the beach one minute's walk from our campsite, were the shortest, cheapest, least educational and most memorable ones of the holiday. We need to learn something from this, don't we? Yes we do.
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