The beach boys

I wake up to what sounds like  a champagne cork popping. Followed by the word ‘brilliant…er so the coffee machine has blown up then’. I get up and say ‘oh’. That covered it really.
There’s coffee everywhere and Tony says, ‘great it’s even charred my coffee cup’. It so has. Right where the lips of a left hand person go as per the picture!
I clear up the coffee saying, ‘I thought you were making me a champagne breakfast and here I am on me knees mopping up your grouts’.
We drink our coffee in bed. Tony drinks his and says, ‘hhhmmm, the taste of coffee and carbon’.
We listen to the waves through the open window. Tony asks, ‘does it want another coffee’? ‘Er, does it involve blowing the place up again’?
Tony goes off to make an instant coffee, washing out the blown up machine and putting it in the back of the cupboard saying, ‘coffee machine, nah, never used it’.
We decide we’ll go chill on the beach today. The actual conversation went with me suggesting it and Tony indicating he thought that was a great idea. Possibly even better than that.
So off we went. We lay our towels down and laid out, me using my handbag as a pillow. I started listening to global journey. Tune.
With the romance of the beach, I lay with my eyes shut and started thinking back to the last holiday I had with my ex 8 years ago, when I knew I wanted to be with Tony. While chilling day by day on the beach in Barbados, interrupted only by the aloe vera and coconut sellers, all I could think of was being with Tony and what we would be doing if we were on the beach together right then.
I saw us beach body perfect, both in little trunks with pert arses and mahogany bodies but without the leathered look, walking hand in hand with pedicured toes that enjoyed the sand (mine even looking less clown like). The sun beating down on us creating just enough sweat that instead of suggesting a hygiene issue or a sweaty bottom was appealing, creating a golden, dewy shimmer on our tight bodies that oozed appeal. The water warm and we splash playfully in it.
The memory was so romantic, after 5 minutes of my global journey, I opened my eyes to look at my relaxed husband laying next to me (not).
Sitting awkwardly, fully clothed and bolt up right like a meerkat the minute he saw me open my eyes he said, ‘I hate this beach shit. You get sand everywhere and you just have to sit amongst half naked sweaty strangers’.
We have actually only been on the beach for 20 minutes and most of that I was fantasising about us being on a different beach at a different point in time and me with a very different body, one that still had an outline and held the same form whatever.
I suggest a walk into the water and start singing, ‘into the sea you and me’ by the Love Cats. We paddle and Tony instantly moans ‘er, it’s freezing’ and steps back out. ‘Oh and now all the sand is like actually sticking to my feet’. I think, sod him. I’m going in and when the water gets to my ankles I take a sharp in take of breath before agreeing, ‘it’s bloody cold’ and getting equally annoyed sand is now sticking to me.
We both have poor eyesight and so we played a game of moobs or boobs? Taking it in turns to pick someone out and confirm their body parts with a simple, ‘moobs’ or ‘boobs’.
After a while of this game, and stretching back out to chill/commencing meerkat position, two annoying young boys turned up who seemed to be playing tag literally on my beach towel. I exaggerate but the point was I was getting covered in sand while they were having fun as their bloody feet flicked up sand as they went playfully by! And this was made worse by Tony lifting his legs up to do his MS exercises.
‘Forget it, let’s go back for a siesta’ I say. ‘Great, I didn’t want to come to the bloody beach anyway’. ‘Well then why did you say you wanted to come’. ‘Well I thought you’d know I wouldn’t want to and we’d do something else’. ‘Yer, good plan, let’s start communicating by telepathy only and say the reverse of what we actually want coz that’s not confusing’. ‘Well, I didn’t want to upset you’. ‘I’d hardly have been upset and anyway, we could have just played moobs or boobs from the balcony’.
Later we re-emerge and go shopping. On the way out of the apartment I look in the lift mirror and comment I still have lines on my face from when I was sunbathing on my handbag like forever ago now. Tony tells me, ‘it’s coz the elasticity in your skin is going’. Bloody charming. Where’s that lovely romantic guy with the mahogany buns gone? And the guy who before a siesta didn’t want to upset me about not going to the beach but post siesta is quite happy to tell me I am literally ageing before my eyes. Shit, how much older will I look when this the slowest lift I have ever been in actually gets to the ground floor (if it does which has been in doubt everyday).
In the shop, each time I am so impressed by the shopping trolley and film myself using it and promoting its skills round by the crisps. I particularly like its turning capabilities and ability to be utilised and pulled from any angle. ‘Er, what you doing’? I’m being asked by Tony (fortunately not security), as I am filming and commenting on the trolley, but I am quickly distracted as I see a bloke dressed as a pirate in the shop buying vodka. Is he an alcoholic time traveller?
We dump our stuff and head out for a drink. Beer in hand, Tony comments along the lines of how all the bras are fully utilised around here and some are definitely straining dealing with their contents saying, ‘help me’, which he says as though he is one of the bras holding back the breasts unable to take the strain of his load any longer.
We head back and cook mussels which had some hairy sack bits inside. We sat drinking wine, chewing on the hairy sacks on our balcony.  All of a sudden there’s a massive bang. It’s not a hairy sack exploding in our mouths, so we just assume that Trump has finally pressed the button. Ready to give each other a quick cuddle before fighting over the last of the wine, we realise this is some sort of start to a carnival procession. Oh, that explains the pirate buying vodka!
Naturally, we take 100s of pictures and videos which we will never watch again, and they will just be an annoyance on my phone when I try to find and show my favourite dog picture. The one where when Winston was a puppy and I went through a phase of growing vegetables he was the same size as an extremely large beetroot.
Wearing Tony’s coat now, I am absolutely freezing!

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