We have just got back from a long weekend in Camber Sands. It was great. There wasn't a cloud in the sky for three days. We were staying in a 'restaurant with rooms' (otherwise known as a 'hotel') called The Place right next to the huge main beach which was ideal and being February, not too expensive either.
Sam was transfixed by the sea, not quite as enthusiastic about the sand. He was beaming most of the weekend though and although he (we) didn't sleep brilliantly, I think he enjoyed himself. I know we did.
The weekend has also been a bit of an eye-opener for me on just how demanding Sam is on your (read Jo's) time. Not that he is particularly difficult, at least not at the moment, it's just that he's there and needs attention and stimulation pretty much constantly. When you're away from home that's fine. It's when you're trying to sort out the boring stuff, the tax returns or the damp walls or the never ending mountain of washing or trying to get the shower re-tiled that it's most frustrating. He just never gives you long enough to make the calls and follow up the inevitable fuck-wittery that ensues on pretty much anything to do with a) the government or b) tradesman.
I don't really know what the answer is.
