An inquisitive old fart with a camera
Piles of sand block the street to car traffic. Apparently the exceptionally heavy rain last week carved out whatever caused the rambla (waterfront road) to collapse three years ago. You can see the new crack forming halfway to the missing chunk. When all is done, they’ll dump in a bunch of sand, pave it (maybe), and that will be that. Until next time.
When the British ran the circus, they made train lines everywhere.
In most cases now, you really don’t have to worry about trains.
You might have guessed that already.
24 hours later, what appeared to be high tide appears to be low tide.
And the water has changed color completely.
After a day of intense rain and flooding, a day of intense wind, driving the waves all the way into the dunes.
The waves look benign, but with howling wind and stinging sand seemed less so. Then I stepped into quicksand and sunk one foot to the ankle. I should know by know – on the upwind side of the drainage channels formed by water from the street, windblown sand becomes quicksand. A little disconcerting, especially with no other human being in sight.
Dead things on the beach all the rage these days.
No, Gita (short for Dogita), you can’t bring it home.
Three year old fixed male, blocked urinary track, never came out of anesthesia after the vet put in a catheter.
Turns out friends here had a similar experience. Kidney failure.
Sweet cat, Mr Peepers.
I took this photo this morning. I know you expect me to say that Mr Peepers loved to lie on that chair in the sun, but as far as I know he was never on it.
OK. I’ll admit it. In kindergarten my report card said, ‘Plays well with others, especially his imaginary friends.’