Avocet, shoveler, redshank, lapwing and a small black dog

To call the wind 'fresh' would be an understatement on this early spring day. But the chance to head out through the marshes at Salthouse is precious whatever the weather. Boom is thinking 'swim'. Following the weeks of wet weather, the dykes and scrapes are full to the brim. I'm more focussed on the feathered inhabitants. Undeterred by the wind, a Lapwing performs its aerial ballet, whilst the shovelers, well, shovel.

Boom gives me the hurry-up. He doesn't consider standing still to be part of the deal. There's a beach to get to. We reach the shingle and turn west, head to the wind. The stones are hard to walk on at the best of times. The gale makes it even tougher going.

I know we only have a couple of hundred yards to negotiate before we can turn inland amongst the relative shelter of the reeds, so we press on taking a route along the inner edge of the shingle bank. I scan the water inland sparkling in the sunshine for birdlife. Movement only a few yards ahead reveals a small group of ringed plover. Plump, grey and white in their winter plumage, they seem unfazed by the approaching man and hound and continue feeding, orange legs scampering from morsel to morsel.

Nothing else is moving except one or two waders I don't have the expertise to pick at longer range. The Avocet are easy to spot, brilliant white and in their element in the flooded marshes.

Crossing the coast road we take the footpath amongst the fields of oil seed rape, just coming into yellow flower. The incentive of a coffee in the Salthouse Village Store keeps me going. Last time Boom and I visited the shop, was when I was writing Tales from Iceni Territory and after the owner made a fuss of the dog, I mentioned it in the text.

Now its published, perhaps they will find room for a copy on the well stocked shelves.