You can walk with the waves and spot sea-shells among the dunes, alright, but first you need to find your way to the north east shoulder of Fife. Access is via an annoyingly narrow forest road and an unmanned, coin-operated barrier but you don't need to worry about that?

These things need maintenance, right, and this being not too long after you-know-what when the world stopped and nobody could go out, it will be permanently stuck in the up position? Wrong.

Even now it's still a couple-of-coins-only mechanism and that is how it should and always should be, right codgers?

These are sparsely populated parts with not much between Leuchars, a name familiar with anyone who has ever taken a train or were in the RAF, and Tayport, a small port on the River, erm, Tay.

Tayport is directly opposite Broughty Ferry but regular readers, yeah right, will already know all about that.

With the ferry long gone, most people will bypass for the bridge over to Dundee but their harbour has been given the leisurely treatment.

The reason for us popping in, however, is to greet the other and more frequent visitors who you are guaranteed, yes guaranteed, to see 'most days', they say, and no, we don't really know what that means, neither.

Common bottlenose dolphins are guaranteed, yes guaranteed, to be seen off the harbour wall 'most days'.

That, though, seems to be a case of the Tayport Tourist Board working overtime, there's no sign of the little flippers today.

Meanwhile, back at the coin-operated barrier, it's a short hop to the scrub and wetland that guards the beach, the sea currently two miles away it seems.

Seals and cormorants bask and splay respectively in the distance, honestly, making the most of the sandy geography of the Tay estuary but what's that behind?

Why it's only Tentsmuir Forest, five square miles of mostly pine and a large part of the pitch on which this place is sold.

The shifting sands are timeless but the forest ain't all that old, this largely planted like many others around the country to replace the wood needed for World War I, wouldn't you know.

There's a waymarked trail that skirts the scrub heading north where you can get yourselves informed in a thoroughly modern manner.

There's something much older just beyond and the Ice House is Tentsmuir's main, erm, attraction. It was built to do just that, the triple-thick walls keeping the salmon cold in one of the mainstay industries back in the late 18th century.

It's a house for bats, these days, following the inevitable decline and World War I wouldn't have helped?

Then there was another war.

It was during World War II that the sands were requisitioned by the RAF located down in Leuchars, remember?

Back on the beach, this observation hut would have been used to verify bullseyes on targets pulled by one of these not-always-so-rusty carriages.

This was revealed by the shifting sands as were many protective, concrete blocks since this was a prime, potential landing spot for the Führer's invading forces.

The blocks were put in place by Polish soldiers who flew in to defend Fife in the '40s, camping in the forest when the trees were no taller than head height, probably.

The trees are much taller now and it's back on a broad and foot-friendly forest track to the fleshpots of the car park and a barrier that's hopefully not locked.

By 'fleshpots', it's meant Salt and Pine, an enterprising venture proffering crepes from a shack and a plug for their online clothing and knick-knacks.

To work up an appetite for what's a pancake, really, head inland to Morton Lochs, another part of this varied and, quite frankly, fantastic National Nature Reserve.

Otters are offered, they say, and to their credit and unlike Tayport they make no similar claim so... you are NOT guaranteed, that's not guaranteed, to see them 'most days'.