Beaumaris is packed with Peters. The town has a Peter for every occasion: Pete-the-Feet; Pete-World; Prof-Peter and Peter-Peter.
Peter-Peter (practical in every way) has, this week, been raised to sainthood after performing a minor miracle on my Fisher M-Scope. Yes, she's old, but I love her. Might not be linked to a satellite, but she's come up with some fantastic stuff over the years (anyway, the Penmon postman says that you can't beat an early Fisher M-Scope - and that's good enough for me).
My fault entirely ... Got a huge bleep on Lligwy beach ... Got over excited .. Got careless, threw her down and she hit a rock. Disaster. I found a lump of lead (not a gold sovereign from the Royal Charter) and my little Fisher-friend had bitten the dust (sand in this case).
But sometimes things do happen for the best. I just discovered that I've probably been relying on electronic assistance for far too long - beachcombing with my eyes definitely has its benefits: I walk longer distances and bend over a bit more ... too much information. Good news is that my metal detector is up and running again thanks to the genius of Peter-Peter (and the promise of a couple of pints in The Bull)
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