.... oh I do like to be beside the seaside....
I live in a village on the east coast of Norfolk, England. It's a small seaside village where the tourists (or Grockles, as we call them) flock to each summer, with oversized shorts a-flapping, floppy summer hats a-flipping and flip-flop shoes a-flopping (try saying that when you've had a few....). The sun was shining and the temperature was at 79 degrees so I thought I'd venture out to the amusement arcade with a couple of friends. We could have a decaf coffee and play some daft games while watching the over-zealous "grockles" smiling, joking, getting a little drunk and generally entertaining us.
In to the arcade we went, with our pennies clutched tightly in our hand, excited at the prospect of winning a 20 pence lolly on the " two penny push" machines and spending about twenty pounds in two pences to get it! Bargain (not)! After a hectic hour of two pences, filthy hands (there is no truer meaning than 'dirty cash'), I had won not one lolly but two, a naff keyring and an eraser. I was flush with victory! Gripping my plastic pot of two pences and resplendent with cheap and tacky 'prizes', my friends and I purchased our decaf, skimmed milk cappucinos and settled down to watch what joyous entertainment the happy holiday makers could provide.
First, we had the incredible tatooed man. He with his life history written all over his appendages. As I tried to read his biceps and then his shoulder blades (yes, he felt he could remove his shirt without written permission from the Enviromental Agency - I know not why) I mused on the subject of why English men feel they can indiscriminately and without due care or regard, remove their clothes at the first sign of the Old Current Bun (Sun). It seemed to me that when the glorious but oh-so-elusive golden orb makes a its rare appearance, English men disrobe. Without warning, we are treated to the dubious pleasure of witnessing that which we would like to forget - the wibbly-wobbly white whaler. Oh, yes!
Hairy bellied with man-boobs and south facing nipples, they strut around like preening peacocks in their enormous parachute-like shorts, revealing wrinkled knobbly knees and veins that resemble a country wide map of our freeways. Moving further down (don't move up, for goodness sake!) reveals particularly offensive socks only to be met by some sandals that have seen better days and should have been burnt ceremoniously on the BBQ 10 years prior.
Whilst I looked on agog, coffee half way up to my mouth, a loud noise offended my ears. As I had sat there pondering the outrage of "Man-Boob", yet another half naked offender had passed my table and had the temerity to indulge in flatulence. The odour was enough to turn the most taciturn buddhist monk into a genocidal manic. Nostrils akimbo, yet desperately trying to close my mouth, I spluttered my outrage, coffee cup shaking jelly-like in my hand. The individual from which the foul stench had eminated, a very pink fleshed and sun burnt fellow, had walked off without so much as a cursory backward glance. Had he have taken the trouble to do so, he would have witnessed that which can only be best described as me imitating Disneys Tazmanian Devil! Does he need a change of manners, of decency, of social skills and indeed, a change of underwear? I found myself hoping he had no After-Sun lotion and zero toilet roll.....
Having finished my coffee, we decide to run to the white, sandy beach only two hundred yards away. This involves negotiating the perilous climb up the 50 yard cement incline which takes us over the sea wall and onto the most beautiful beach. The ramp is so steep, it seems to bend backwards but the glittering prize of the rolling sea beckons. I felt joy in my heart! I felt cheer in my soul! I also felt sand in my shoes..... I careened head-long up the ramp. I would like to have described myself as gazelle-like but I fear I was more Orang-utang like. Staggering against the wind (no, not that kind of wind - we've been there...) which whipped up the sand from the dunes and assailed my face, I was beginning to feel like Lawrence of Arabia, only I was in Sea Palling. I eventually reached the glorious precipice and stared triumphantly out to sea. I leaned into what can only be described as hurricane conditions. This is what I would look like, I thought, if I had a face lift. My eye brows were fast meeting at the back of my head so fierce were the gusts. The my eyes were watering, resulting in my eyeliner beating a retreat horizontally over the tips of my ears so that I now resembled a rabid badger! The sea had lost its glory. I had lost my make-up. I thought at one point, I'd also lost my mind.
Snatching defeat from the jaws of triumph, I swiftly turned my now fully exfoliated, if not sand blasted face to my hearty comrades in recommendation that we give the beach a miss. They were nowhere to be found. It would seem they had given up the idea as a bad job and had turned back half way through the epic ascent. Where was the serority? Where was the comradery? Where was the bloody de-fib??
I barrelled back down the ramp, the ensuing 'breeze' giving my endeavours more than a little encouragement, indeed, I was going like Road-Runner. My shoes, heavy with sand were beginning to work loose and were threatening to cut all ties with my all-too rapid feet. I had frantic visions of my propelling tumbler fashion down what remained of the ramp. On the bright side, I could have revealed hidden gymnastic talents. On the reality side, I could have revealed my so far hidden knickers. The thought of my 'Frilly Flashing' spurred me on to remain upright and I reached the plateau in one piece, if not a little flustered. However, the mirth that this had brought to my friends was evident to see. They were doubled up with laughter as were the tourists.
Far from they being my entertainment, it transpired that I had been theirs....
Have a good day, all!
Alli
x
In to the arcade we went, with our pennies clutched tightly in our hand, excited at the prospect of winning a 20 pence lolly on the " two penny push" machines and spending about twenty pounds in two pences to get it! Bargain (not)! After a hectic hour of two pences, filthy hands (there is no truer meaning than 'dirty cash'), I had won not one lolly but two, a naff keyring and an eraser. I was flush with victory! Gripping my plastic pot of two pences and resplendent with cheap and tacky 'prizes', my friends and I purchased our decaf, skimmed milk cappucinos and settled down to watch what joyous entertainment the happy holiday makers could provide.
First, we had the incredible tatooed man. He with his life history written all over his appendages. As I tried to read his biceps and then his shoulder blades (yes, he felt he could remove his shirt without written permission from the Enviromental Agency - I know not why) I mused on the subject of why English men feel they can indiscriminately and without due care or regard, remove their clothes at the first sign of the Old Current Bun (Sun). It seemed to me that when the glorious but oh-so-elusive golden orb makes a its rare appearance, English men disrobe. Without warning, we are treated to the dubious pleasure of witnessing that which we would like to forget - the wibbly-wobbly white whaler. Oh, yes!
Hairy bellied with man-boobs and south facing nipples, they strut around like preening peacocks in their enormous parachute-like shorts, revealing wrinkled knobbly knees and veins that resemble a country wide map of our freeways. Moving further down (don't move up, for goodness sake!) reveals particularly offensive socks only to be met by some sandals that have seen better days and should have been burnt ceremoniously on the BBQ 10 years prior.
Whilst I looked on agog, coffee half way up to my mouth, a loud noise offended my ears. As I had sat there pondering the outrage of "Man-Boob", yet another half naked offender had passed my table and had the temerity to indulge in flatulence. The odour was enough to turn the most taciturn buddhist monk into a genocidal manic. Nostrils akimbo, yet desperately trying to close my mouth, I spluttered my outrage, coffee cup shaking jelly-like in my hand. The individual from which the foul stench had eminated, a very pink fleshed and sun burnt fellow, had walked off without so much as a cursory backward glance. Had he have taken the trouble to do so, he would have witnessed that which can only be best described as me imitating Disneys Tazmanian Devil! Does he need a change of manners, of decency, of social skills and indeed, a change of underwear? I found myself hoping he had no After-Sun lotion and zero toilet roll.....
Having finished my coffee, we decide to run to the white, sandy beach only two hundred yards away. This involves negotiating the perilous climb up the 50 yard cement incline which takes us over the sea wall and onto the most beautiful beach. The ramp is so steep, it seems to bend backwards but the glittering prize of the rolling sea beckons. I felt joy in my heart! I felt cheer in my soul! I also felt sand in my shoes..... I careened head-long up the ramp. I would like to have described myself as gazelle-like but I fear I was more Orang-utang like. Staggering against the wind (no, not that kind of wind - we've been there...) which whipped up the sand from the dunes and assailed my face, I was beginning to feel like Lawrence of Arabia, only I was in Sea Palling. I eventually reached the glorious precipice and stared triumphantly out to sea. I leaned into what can only be described as hurricane conditions. This is what I would look like, I thought, if I had a face lift. My eye brows were fast meeting at the back of my head so fierce were the gusts. The my eyes were watering, resulting in my eyeliner beating a retreat horizontally over the tips of my ears so that I now resembled a rabid badger! The sea had lost its glory. I had lost my make-up. I thought at one point, I'd also lost my mind.
Snatching defeat from the jaws of triumph, I swiftly turned my now fully exfoliated, if not sand blasted face to my hearty comrades in recommendation that we give the beach a miss. They were nowhere to be found. It would seem they had given up the idea as a bad job and had turned back half way through the epic ascent. Where was the serority? Where was the comradery? Where was the bloody de-fib??
I barrelled back down the ramp, the ensuing 'breeze' giving my endeavours more than a little encouragement, indeed, I was going like Road-Runner. My shoes, heavy with sand were beginning to work loose and were threatening to cut all ties with my all-too rapid feet. I had frantic visions of my propelling tumbler fashion down what remained of the ramp. On the bright side, I could have revealed hidden gymnastic talents. On the reality side, I could have revealed my so far hidden knickers. The thought of my 'Frilly Flashing' spurred me on to remain upright and I reached the plateau in one piece, if not a little flustered. However, the mirth that this had brought to my friends was evident to see. They were doubled up with laughter as were the tourists.
Far from they being my entertainment, it transpired that I had been theirs....
Have a good day, all!
Alli
x
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