The same dog on the same beach most mornings — Dave’s half hour before the day starts. What he’s after is room: hard, open sand to throw a ball across, not a thin wet strip pushed up under the dunes.
At Bamburgh that’s entirely the tide. Low water uncovers miles of firm flat sand beneath the castle; high water leaves a sliver. Drive over at the wrong time and the walk’s a scramble back up the beach as the sea comes in.