I am alone on the beach. A perfect beach of warm, white sand which gives and crumbles a little with each step – like walking on shortbread.
Littering the shore are little clear plastic discs which, on closer inspection, turn out to be beached jellyfish. I prod one with my flip flops, but get no response. Do jellyfish flinch? Do they have nerves and muscles? And, more to the point – do their stingers fire out of water? I decide not to take the chance, and give the critters wide berth.
Further along, a purple flag flutters into view. 'Pests in the water,' a sign explains. And so I wander along the perfect beach, with only the drying, dying jellyfish for company.
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