When old Tudor was only one year old and Meg and I were 40 good years younger, the three of us lived in Castlerock. This is a small town near Coleraine. At the time it lacked nearly every facility one looks for in a comfortable place to live in, but it made up for this lack of enthusiasm by having one of the grandest beaches in Ulster. The unbroken ribbon of sand stretched from a rocky foreshore near Downhill to the mouth of the Bann. During the winter months, when Ulster's masochistic "I love an ice cold bath and pretend to enjoy it" crowd was far away nursing that permanent cold, the Castlerock beach is a magnificent place. Great big Atlantic breakers come sweeping up the beach, their noise competing with the cries of the seagulls and fulmars. 'twas such a day that saw the three of us on a long walk, and glorious it was too. The sun was low and bright, a pleasantly stiff breeze was combing our hair and fur and the beach was empty as far as the eye could see.

In the distance was a lonely figure, arms folded back, staring out to sea with a very large invisible sign hanging over him: "I'm philosophizing about nature. DON'T DISTURB". Instinctively we turned away from the forbidding figure. We are loners ourselves and appreciate the quality in others.

Tudor, however, had other ideas. He had been dying to leave his mark for many minutes and this was the first thing at 90 degrees from the horizontal that he had seen since the last tree, several miles back.

For some reason I had a premonition of what was to come and yelled:"Tudor, Tudor, come here boy". Meg did the same, but it was in vain. The silent figure turned around and fixed us with a gaze so deadly, my heart slowed down. We fell silent, Tudor however couldn't care less and he quickly cocked a leg at that statuesque target and moved on. If anything could break the deadly spell, this was it. The silent figure turned back to the sea, eyes fixed on the horizon, never guessing how reality had caught up with him and Meg started to make strange, strangled noises.

We admired the dripping yellow stain on those formerly pristine white trousers in passing, glad to get away from that deadly look.

I don't know who the silent gentleman was, but I sure hope he's not connected to the internet!