|Looking towards Portrush and the Skerries - 21st August 2013|
Typical summer weather. Mild and wet. That was how I would describe Tuesday's late afternoon weather in Portrush. I had decided to run around this north coast resort for a change of training venue.
There is something somewhat melancholy, but also rather familiar and comforting about a seaside town trying to engender a holiday atmosphere when nature is laughing at its efforts. Frazzled parents were dragging their bored and bedraggled offspring through the mizzle laden air. One child stamped in a puddle. Her siblings were already sodden and didn't object. Close to the harbour two elderly women, perhaps they were sisters, sat on a bench wearing identical plastic macs. A bit of rain wasn't going to spoil their day at the seaside.
Like the children I was rather wet by the time I returned to the car after my hours run. Two optimistic "Mr Whippies," had pulled up not far from where I had parked. No one was queuing at their windows. No one was anxious to purchase their confections which were advertised in garish colours as, "Soft to Eat, Hard to Beat."
A couple of hundred yards away I could see a large marquee. The banner advertisements announced that it contained an ice rink. An appropriate attraction for a small seaside town, in Northern Ireland, in August,in the rain.