I always associate the phrase Flat Day Fun with erstwhile surf queen Jo C. For the surfer it's a phrase heavy with irony, and possibly even an oxymoron. If it's a flat day, by definition it's not fun.
Faced with a flat sea, I tried the age-old surfer trick of staring at the horizon, trying to will waves into existence. It failed. So I decided to entertain myself by going roller-blading, something else I associate with Jo C. In the event, I suspect I mostly entertained the inhabitants of Boscombe. Like having a dog or a young child, roller blades seem to be an excuse for strangers to talk to you. Which is fine if you're walking the dog or strolling a child, but a little less welcome when you're wrapped around a lamp post.
I borrowed the blades from my Dad, who used to bring Vienna to a standstill every morning as he sped around the city. Think The Third Man, Orson Welles on wheels. Orson Wheeles, in fact.
The Boscombe Sainsbury's is fine, but they need to rethink their book and fish marketing, which is sending out contradictory messages.
Talking of Harry Lime, after Boscombe I headed to Lyme Regis to meet David the Diplomat. It was still flat, so we searched for fossils, got caught in bracken and drank.
This is David sitting on several dozen fossils, all of them 150 million years old.
After a charming meal at the Harbour Inn, I have finally came to the conclusion that scallops are over-rated. The only way to eat them is barbecued in Barra.
This is me, sitting on a sofa that is also about 150 million years old. As you can see, I have decided to put myself up for adoption.
No takers so far.