I am not a fan of sand. 

I have no romantic ‘pull’ on my heartstrings towards expanses of yellow/white/grey granules (colour dependant on where you are in the world).

To the coast and the sea - yes, the pull is there - but not to the beach.

It’s the remains of rocks that’s been crushed into particles and the bodily waste of tiny creatures who ate coral and excreted it as sand then built up over Millenia.

Mixed in are their miniscule white skeletons, so basically - you are walking on grains of pulverised rock, bones and faeces.

‘Is it just the fact that it’s fish poo?’ I hear you ask.

No - it’s also the fact of when you’re walking on it, you sink into it.

It gets between your toes, into your food, into your handbag…

If you sit down on it - It gets into all your crevasses, every nook and cranny. I don’t need to paint a picture, I know you’re feeling the discomfort right now, drawn from your own experiences.

Also - what’s under the sand that you can’t see?

Lost change, broken watches, bottle tops, broken bottles, empty cans, used condoms, discarded needles, dog faeces.

You could be walking along the beach, unknowingly squashing shellfish, other sea creatures, walking on dead bodies, into quicksand under your very feet.

You could be stepping on bits of old shrapnel, bits of cars, plastic bags, bits of long dead people and tiny pieces of shipwreck  - the tears from an unhappy holiday romance, cast a side chicken bones, empty food packets.

Anything! 

The list is endless.

So no - I do not like sand.