Once there was Brighton rock, sent with love from Graeme Green.
My early life bore sticks of rock in candy stripes or perfect pink.
My young days were blessed by gift shops and cold cafe winters and buckets of sand.
Paignton, one of several beach fronts that I had encountered.
Another  beach I met when I was wee.
Was lovely Weymouth, stocked with historical regency.
Upon the sands was to be found a perfect sculptor played with sand.
A maker of  the sphinx,and of cars and crowns.
Stole all the little children's tears and frowns.
Built Neptune complete with his chariot and maybe just another modest castle.
Almost fit to suit a modern day queen.
Mr Punch and Mrs Judy.
The puppeteer's hand shoved up both their bottoms at once.
Poor knackered donkeys plodded.
Their bridles labelled with their names.
All gone now.
Think the animal rights brigade may have stepped in there.
Punch and Judy deemed inappropriate and the sandman left.
Guess they put him to sleep or maybe they're just taxing his sand.
(C) Livvi