We reach the end of the rocks and, with the loudest bleat of all, bound down on to the sand. It’s scattered with scallop and razor clam shells, the prettiest of which we collect in a red bucket. There are seagrass plants torn up by yesterday’s storm, laid out neatly like botanical specimens. We soon come across my daughter’s favourite beach find: a mermaid’s purse (the old sailor’s term is so much more alluring than “egg case”). A few steps on we find another purse. And then another: I’ve never seen such a concentration.