Sometines I get argumentative. 

I'm not sure why I can't agree with you - I guess it just riles me that you expect me to. Perhaps I just want you to know that others see it differently. 

Take the guy on the beach this morning, very early, in his Mercedes. His black labrador jumped out of the car and with no instruction from his owner to stay, he bounded over to me and jumped up on my bare legs. I love dogs, so I was more growling in the direction of the owner when I sharply told it to 'get down'. 

'Lovely morning. Isn't the ocean lovely and flat?' he said. 

'I'd prefer it with waves', I said. It's true. I wanted a surf. Still, I had been jogging and walking up the beach as the sun came up, so I wasn't *un*happy. 

'You'll have some swimmers joining you soon', he says, eyeing me off as I get changed into my shorts and swim top. 'There's about seven. They're down here every morning.'


![image.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/riverflows/EpnCMSrm5ynRXoesvX9v3hsDZkjjPrtArTPf9djBcRRm4tU52FUBJ3dEseCV3cyS6XV.png)


'I know', I can't help but say. 'I've seen them many times.' I have. They come with thermos of tea and boogie boards and swim year round, even in the dead of winter. They're nice, but I usually try to leave the beach before they come, because they're loud and have a heap of dogs that jump up on me. I like the beach quiet. 

'Aren't we lucky', he says, 'to have it all to ourselves?'. I feel annoyance rising like the tide. The irony of this statement kills me. There's four vanlifers parked in the car park and a horde of swimmers about to arrive. We are a week off summer and it's terrible crowds. 

'I had to myself growing up', I say, in a fit of pique and terrible localism. It's true though. It's only got busy as it has after COVID. I know his type, with his Mercedes, too - he's likely an ex lawyer or barrister, retired, and bought a three million dollar house down here, probably after kicking out some tennants who've now got nowhere to go, and is #livingthelife on this coast. Yes, I'm being judgemental. Yes, he deserves his slice of happiness too. But I can't help feel acrinomious. Once we *did* have this coast to ourselves. We could afford to live here. The crowds came in summer, and winter was quiet and blissful. 

Now none of this is true. 


![image.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/riverflows/EpQvo43WFtnXvehzMzerhFZqdn5SFpXXWiRNgxtCJXMhQGR3vSh3Yha4dfkji16n5w2.png)


'Well, I mean it's very quiet compared to places in the rest of the world', he says. At this point I'm gritting my teeth and my smile is quite akin to that of one of the sharks I hope will eat him when he swims. I'm thinking of all those beautiful places in the world that still haven't been overrun by seachangers and people with dogs who do not care that their pet jumps up on strangers. How *parochial* of him, I think. How *small* his world. 

'Yes, it's lovely', I say agreeably, and dash off for my swim. 

Twenty minutes of salt water therapy will wash it all away. 

<center>

# `With Love,` 


![image.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/riverflows/23t6xT1abr5kFMeEirKwZ2QqT6MK9U4SBpKCQZAjVEojgm7uSSGL9AJSuwtBsUmMAV5jv.png)







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