When I was a boy, every holiday that I had seemed wonderful. My parents took me by train or by car to a
hotel by the sea . All day, I seem to remember, I played on the sands with strange excited children. We made houses
and gardens, and watched the tide destroy them. When the tide went out, we climbed over the rocks and looked down
at the fish in the rock-pools.
In those days the sun seemed to shine always brightly and the water was always warm. Sometimes we
exploring beach and walked in the country, exploring (搜寻) ruined houses and dark woods and climbing trees.
There were sweets in one's pockets or good places where one could buy ice creams. Each day seemed a life-time.
Although I am now thirty-five years old, my idea of a good holiday is much the same as it was. I still like the
sun and warm sand and the sound of waves beating the rocks. I no longer wish to build any sand house or sand
garden, and I dislike sweets. however , I love the sea and often feel sand running through my fingers.
Sometimes I wonder what my ideal (理想的) holiday will be like when I am old . All I want to do then, perhaps,
will be to lie in bed, reading books about children who make houses and gardens with sands, who watch the incoming
tide, who make themselves sick on too many ices creams.