There's something great about seaside resorts on sharp, sunny winter mornings. Yesterday at Frinton I seemed to have the whole place to myself. Low tide, glistening water, sandy beaches, soft colours, silence apart from a few cawing gulls. That's the life.
But is there something missing? Something with four legs and a wagging tail who might also revel in the moment? Now there is a business opportunity - Rent-a-Dog - ideal for people like me who love the occasional company of a canine friend, but who tire of dog hair everywhere, the relentness need of food and exercise. Simply turn up at the beach and select a dog from the man who rents out deckchairs in the summer months. Pay him a pound for an hour's rental of a good-natured setter or elkhound. But I rumble...
Postscript. After writing the above I visited France. Another sunny morning. Another deserted beach. But the French have rules about dogs.
Dogs are seemingly allowed to poo all over the pavements. But the beach in winter? Non!
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