Having popped out on Friday to provide some IT sport I carried on with a few beers. The combination of a few beers and no dinner brought me to a bad place. I had consumed sufficient beer to consider that a Chinese take away was a good idea and dutifully collected one. The problem was that I had not consumed enough beer to overcome the poor quality. I think I shall pen a note for my wallet that reminds me I don’t like fast food. It was lovely to pop down to the Ship on Friday and see the old girl thriving. Obviously I miss being there but seeing it do well is the next best thing and hey it’s only a matter of time until I have my next one.
I awoke on Saturday morning to the high pitched shrieks of children on the beach. A check of my watch revealed that it was 6am, surely not? My watch must be wrong, no the phone confirmed the same thing. I looked out of the window to discover the shrieks were emanating from a pair of middle aged women. The tide was out and one was splashing around in the sea whilst the other kept dispatching the dog to ‘rescue’ her. My first thought was to shout back but they were too far, they had the advantage that the sea carries sound well. After 30 minutes I had my shorts on and was preparing to go down to the sea, wait for her to shriek “I’m drowning” again and then place a foot on her head and reply “Indeed you are”. Thankfully they tired of the ocean and disappeared, I can only presume that they found a window to lick somewhere.
In other news I was quite taken aback by an idle comment from a friend this weekend. This was one of those ‘uncle gav’ chats and I was sagely advising that it was all about different stages in life and I was sure that it would all come right for this young couple. The innocent comment from the young lady was ‘oh I wish I could just be happy single like you’. Firstly I need Jo to note this when she reads this post, see sis I told you I am just the non threatening type! And secondly I shall add it to the list of things that people wrongly assume. This list was started by the cowgirl’s absolute belief that I am a ‘blondes’ guy, despite absolutely no evidence. I think somewhere along the line I went out of synch with adults, hence the random assumptions, but kept in line with children. Or perhaps the gurgling smiles that I endear from babies are simply their way of saying “lets see if I can make the mardy old git smile”. Am I simply a challenge to babies?
Recent experience of a mate tells me that the middle aged dating game is way more complicated than it appears at first sight. It’s not all text messages and phone calls anymore, apparently you have to change computer passwords to match the name of your intended future partner. Although I didn’t think his name was “yourbunnyisboiling” perhaps it’s an anagram.
English seaside tourism really is something to behold. I watched the spectacle again yesterday afternoon as the wide sandy beach was divided into territories. With not a breath of air the wind breaks were still deployed as demarcation of property lines. Swingball, coolers and blankets are all put to use defining each families area of sand. The early arrivals secured waterside real estate with later arrivals having to tread a careful path through them to reach the ocean.
Now this is where nature (not Ms Nature) has her fun, at the expense of tourists who seem to have the memory of a goldfish. As the tide comes in so they move to higher ground. Estates shrink, barriers come down and people get closer. By mid afternoon tightly packed groups are clinging to the rock breakwaters and it’s standing room only on Albion beach. Like some sort of theatre they play out life in town as wide open spaces are exchanged for close proximity and tight spaces.
I wrote about the garbage issue with tourism yesterday, nature has her way of punishing that as well. Locals all know that Albion beach is not where you want to spend your time. Tourists bury their rubbish in the sand you see, presumably under some misguided belief that the ocean cleans it. The Albion beach only gets washed by the sea at the highest of tides. In effect the force of nature corrals the tourists into their own trash pit.
Lovely to see my friends doing a good trade this weekend. I did try and explain to their young barmaid that being exhausted and stinking of beer is the mark of a good shift but I don’t think I convinced her. For me the best shifts were those where I collapsed into bed too tired to shower. I am convinced stale beer helps with the aches and pains but, like a sticky bar floor, it is certainly the mark of a busy shift. It is also interesting how many people can run a busy pub. When a pub is full and turnover high everyone could do a better job, I never hear the same conversations on deathly January nights. Look at the number of failed pubs, behind every one of them is someone that could do it better. The skill of the publican is not just reflected in how he copes with busy times. It is more accurately reflected in how he copes with the quiet months, there is an awfully long year to ammortise brief profits over.
I discovered that Sean has added a virtual tour to his driftwood web page this weekend. It was almost as good as being there to walk through the photographs. I could almost feel the sand on the concrete floor and the sun burning through the windows. The pictures were shot on a nice day and looking out over the emerald ocean I swear I could feel the breeze coming through those windows and taste a cold Coors. A look at his merchandise display found a ‘sorry all items are currently out of stock’ I remember trying to purchase a driftwood teddy a few summers ago for an absent friend. When told they were out of stock I tried to talk Mona into selling me one from the display cabinet only to find it is sealed. They had the cabinet built around the merchandise meaning the only way in was to smash the glass! There is a lesson there I am sure. Mona managed to find me a spare teddy in the end and so the last bear to leave the driftwood made its way to Essex, I wonder where it is now….
Bring on the Appley