The Best Part of My Morning

If there's one thing Rob and I rarely miss, it's our early morning walk with the dogs.

It doesn't seem to matter what the weather's doing. We've trudged along the beach wrapped up like a pair of Arctic explorers in January, been nearly blown into the sea by the wind, and in the summer we've wondered why on earth we didn't leave the house half an hour earlier before the heat and the holiday makers. Living in Devon, you soon learn that if you don't like today's weather, tomorrow will almost certainly invent something completely different. 😂

The dogs, of course, couldn't care less. Rain, sunshine, gale force winds... they're just delighted somebody has remembered to open the front door.

Our walk nearly always ends at the little Costa down on the beach. By then everyone's exercised, everyone's awake, and—most importantly—it's time for breakfast.

Now, I should probably pretend I'm terribly healthy and order something virtuous, but that would be a complete work of fiction. Every morning I look at all the sensible choices before ordering exactly the same thing... a pan au raisin.

Honestly, I think it's reached the point where they probably start warming one up the moment they see me walking across the promenade.

Rob, meanwhile, is a little more substantial in his breakfast choices and goes for a bacon roll. He insists it's because he needs the energy. Personally, I think he just likes any excuse to eat bacon. 😉

Then we both sit down with a coffee, watch the sea, chat about absolutely everything and absolutely nothing, and generally put the world to rights before the day properly begins.

Quite often, that's where we'll talk through whatever book I'm working on. Characters have a habit of wandering into our conversations when we're least expecting them. One minute we're discussing the dogs, the next we're arguing about what Henry Shackleford would have done in a particular situation, or whether Charlotte has already worked something out before everyone else has. Poor Rob never quite knows whether he's having breakfast with his wife or half the Shackleford family.

I suppose writing can sometimes look like a rather glamorous profession from the outside. People imagine authors sitting in beautiful libraries with leather-bound notebooks, waiting patiently for inspiration to strike.

The reality is usually rather different.

Most days it starts with sandy dogs, a bacon roll, a slightly squashed pan au raisin, an iced coffee and a conversation overlooking the sea.

And honestly... I wouldn't have it any other way.

Much love,

Bev xx