Date: Friday 7th July 2017 Weather: Sunny and Damn hot. Mile: 000
We had a lazy start to the
morning due to the heat. We took breakfast under the trees at the rear of the
van. A little after 1100 hrs we loaded our swimmies into our bergans and made
our way to the beach. We decided against our local beach as there was considerably
more to hold our attention at the main ‘plage’ at St George should our interest
in our books wane.
Jackie is currently in the
South Atlantic with Shackleton and his crew and after every few pages looks up
to say “You can’t believe what’s happening now!” In desperation, I reply “I can
because I’ve read the book numerous times”. It is hot on the beach, it is wide
with a considerable tabb down to the water’s edge when the tide is out. It also
stretches away into the distance. We find a spot. Why, even on a deserted
beach, does one wander about kicking the sand saying “Waddya think?” One bit of
beach is much the same as the next surely? Having decided, ‘This is the place’
out comes the beach rug, beach towels, drinks, sun cream, books etc. I settle
down to check out who else is on the beach. At this time of day, believe it or
not it is still pretty empty. Well given the size of the beach anyway.
The guys selling rentals on
the jet skis are doing good business and I am tempted to have a go but the
noise they create I think is so anti-social. Perhaps another day. I am
conscious there might be much buffeting! The Water powered boots on the
modified jet ski seems popular with the young studs. Whilst Jackie swims I
paddle around. There is some taunting but I resist the urge to dive in. It’s
very warm in the water but I do not yet feel like swimming.
We walk off the beach to a
fast food counter in search of some sarnies. That would be the slightly
healthier option but Mike spots a Crocque Monsieur and settles on that. Of all
the other fresh sandwiches on display and available Jackie also plumps for the
same but with a can of Gini. Lemonade. Returning to the beach we set about
lunch. It was disappointing. Mainly because of the white bread we suspect.
Still it filled a gap.
The afternoon wore on and the
place started to fill. Far too many of the ladies’ present, young and older
seemed to have forgotten to pack their bikini tops. Thank goodness for mirror
fronted sun glasses.
1745 hrs and we needed a beer.
It was a short walk off the beach to the ‘place’ here we stopped at the first
bar we came to. As usual the waiter was immediately upon us. We ordered un
pression and un Monaco.
There was a pleasant breeze blowing through the square.
The cold drinks slipped down a treat. We ordered ‘encore’. It was then we
notice a ‘young lady’ sat in the corner. Jackie had her doubts. Me? I thought
it was merely a woman with a rather severely styled haircut. The most curious
factor was the three miniature dogs ‘she’ had with her. Two in some sort of
handbag and one on the seat beside her. These guys would yap away at any other
dog that passed. Regardless of size. This was then her cue to pick each one up
in turn, kiss it and make some sort of cooing noise.
Every time I turned around
to clock ‘her’ she seemed to be staring at me. I was intrigued. I said to
Jackie I would go over, have a chat and see ‘what was what’. You can’t even order
a pizza without getting yourself into trouble. What happens if ‘she’ is a
tranny. “Well,” said I “If ‘she’s’ stood at the mirror in the morning having a
shave before me that’ll confirm it”. With that Jackie grabbed me by the ear and
we made our way back to the van.
Sundowners was a gin and tonic
followed by salad for dinner tonight. Our next-door neighbour called over for a
chat. He to practice his English, me my French. It always amazes me how much
communication can be exchanged with a willingness to try. How much of it is, as
we think it to be of course is open to much interpretation!
