We were busy cleaning the guest suite upstairs when something unusual caught Chris’s eye.

“Sally, come to the window and look,” said Chris, “all the men in orange are walking along the sea wall. It looks as though they’ve finished and they’re doing a final walk like a march of honour!”

I went to the window and saw for myself, it was exactly as Chris said, except that the team in orange overalls were accompanied by some men in suits. Overwhelmed with the urge to thank them before they left, I opened the third storey window fully and called out:

“Thank you!”

My voice must have good projection because they all heard me, stopped and looked up. The besuited man at the head of the crocodile line said something to the rest and they brought out white squares which they had been carrying on them, obviously in readiness for just such an occasion. Chris ran downstairs and found my mobile while the team arranged themselves in the correct order to spell out their message. It read:

“JOB DONE PART 2”

Chris and I cheered and clapped from the open window and I believe that someone else on our terrace saw them and cheered. The “Orange Army” (as they have come to be known locally) waved and smiled back.

Despite the lack of numbers in our impromptu cheering party from on high, I’m sure that the representatives of the Orange Army (whose numbers have been vast – sometimes a hundred at a time in the early stages) must realise how grateful we are for all their work, often in terrible weather conditions, over the last year and a half since the sea wall was devastated. Without our sea wall we would soon have no house and no window from which to wave and cheer our appreciation…

And now that the sea wall is officially open Chris tells me there is another strange sight to behold – ordinary people walking along the wall. Bravo! I must take a look… and take some photos on my mobile just for the record.

It is probably no coincidence that the sea wall opened today, which happens to be the day of Dawlish Carnival, when thousands of people descend on the town. Unfortunately, it often rains on carnival day and today is no exception. When Chris drew back our bedroom curtains upon the wet world outside this morning he observed:

“What a shame it’s raining so hard on the day of the carnival again! No wonder they call them* ‘floats’!”

My husband has a very dry sense of humour.

(*the entries on trailers)