Harness the Sledge Dogs, Amundsen!

i am my mother's daughter, and the lure of a bit of beachcombing was too much to resist. We went down to the jetty and pottered about, finding a lurid pink buoy for Mum and Dad's new boat ("Flo", as in "Go with the...") and other small things. We then went down to the flats at An Dunan, where the winter storms had washed up some fantastic driftwood - we limited ourselves to looking for attractive pieces, utility for burning waits for a later trip. One piece was so wonderful to look at that we had to have it for the garden, but it was too heavy and awkward for us to carry. Mum then found a good length of rope washed up on the rocks, so we made a harness and I dragged the log up the hill, carrying two long thin pieces (destined for quilt hangers) under my arm, with a twisted root bit sat on my hip. Mum dragged an Ikea bag full of other (equally heavy)bits. As I was dressed in a desert storm camouflage shirt (£2.50 at Land Rover show) I must have looked a bit like Burnham Wood coming to Dunsinane. Dad had hysterics as we trolled in through the bottom gate with our booty....