In spite of the threat of rain, yesterday was yet another day of working outside for me; it was also the Bank Holiday weekend and no end of people, mostly tourists, were wending their way to and fro the town via the pavement outside our house. I was painting the railings on the front steps leading down to my studio whilst a horde of visitors to our little town were passing by on the other side of our wall; as you may know from previous blog posts (if you’re a regular), when I’m working outside I can occasionally hear the comments from the passers-by. Yesterday was no exception.

Often, having passed the run-down empty house (next one up from the Dawlish Warren end of the terrace), people stop at our pretty beach-hut shaped gate, which is considerably lower than the wall on either side, and observe the terrace from their vantage point. At such times I rarely look up from my work, mainly because I’m engrossed in my endeavours but also because of possible embarrassment; hence I’m kind of like “a fly on the wall” or rather, a busy bee near the wall.

A funny thing I’ve noticed recently is that it is usually the passing boys who make the most discerning comments about our house. Take yesterday…

“Mum, look at these houses,” exclaimed one little boy from the North, “They can see the sea from the other side!”

“Yes,” said his mother, “this must be the backs of these houses.”

(I felt like inviting them in but I didn’t because I would never get any work done if I invited everyone in.)

“I’d love to live here in one these houses,” came the wistful voice of an older lad of around fourteen, later on.

(I felt like inviting him to stay for a few weeks in return for some help with painting jobs and re-pointing the brick-work, but I didn’t, of course not.)

In the afternoon, just before the first shower preluded a halt to our painting activities, another Northern family stopped at our gate.

“Oh Mum, isn’t this beautiful?” a young boy’s voice enthused.

“Lovely!” answered his mum before they walked on into Dawlish.

“Did you hear that?” asked Chris, who had been painting the upper rails at the time.

“Yes, what a charming little boy,” I replied, “Did you see him?”

“Yes,” my hubby confirmed.

“How old was he?”

“About seven.”

“Only seven?”

And then it struck me – those boys are the nest-builders of the future. Bless them.