Day 107: Eagle On Eagle

A good long hike around Hengistbury Head.  Cold, cloudless blue sky and squinty bright sun reflecting off the sea.  It's a walk of many parts.  Starting with windblown sand dunes, and gorse bushes, down to the pebbled shore and the sandstone cliffs, with their eroded millefeuille strata.  A scramble up to the headland, through low-lying Lord of the Rings woodland.  Twisty old trees, ivy, hanging vines like Gandalf's beard.  Swampy marshland.  And ancient heathland.  Broom and heather and ling. 

Down to Christchurch Bay and along the water's edge to Mudeford.  The finger of land that boasts the UK's most expensive beach huts.  (Note: you may be able to afford the 90k for a glorified shed, but no amount of money will buy you the self-awareness to know that calling the shed 'River Dance' or 'Paws for Thought' is a dreadful act.)

Back to Peter's house for coffee, with my face tight from windburn.  Fred (four) and Ben (seven) are playing 'Eagle On Eagle'. Which is pretty much as it sounds.  Both 'Eagles' (arms outstretched, running in socked feet) are then 'On' each other.  (For 'On' read 'bundling with'.)  Dominant eagle wins; important lesson learned.  The possibilities are endless.  Pig On Pig.  Worm On Worm.  Snow On Snow. 

To the tune of 'In The Bleak Mid-winter':-

'Pig had fallen,
Pig on Pig.
Pig oh-on Pii-g.
The winner is the Pi-ig
Who is Big,
(falling echo) Is Big.