Yesterday we learned that one of our oldest friends on the beach had died. He was a great pal of Uncle Jonny – two old blokes together they used to be, trundling slowly and breathlessly (in Mac’s case) along with thirty years of life experience between them. His loved ones told us that his breath quietly forsook him as he lay before them one afternoon; the spirit moved him away but he too now has a grave in the garden and an everlasting presence in their hearts. Ours too, indeed. We will always remember his enormously furry feet and smiling, shining face as he shuffled towards us, against all odds it must be said, long after Jonny had gone. As it happens, today I move into another phase of my own life, a little older but a little sadder.