Most evenings when it's bright enough I walk up to the shore
of Dundalk Bay. It's good for clearing the head after a day
sitting in front of a computer. But it was dull, damp and cold
yesterday evening so a quick pic of these stones and shells,
collected on various seaside walks, had to suffice.
They reminded me of my father's favourite tongue twister:
'She sells seashells along the seashore
But the shells that she sells aren't seashore shells.'
As teenagers, however, we preferred to challenge
each other to saying:
'I'm not the pheasant plucker or the pheasant plucker's son
I'm only plucking pheasants til the pheasant plucker comes'!