What not to do at the beach…

Aside from the aforementioned perils associated with beach-going (invest in a good pair of sunglasses, the dark tinted ones obscure the jiggle a little), there are a number of things about the beach that just down right piss me off. Want me to share? Well I’m going to anyway…

Would it be absolute sacrilege to say that at times, I wish I didn’t have to go to the beach every day? Yes? *Runs (haha jk, fast walks)…away…quickly…*

Here is my list of what not to do at the beach…

1) Invade someone’s personal space…

With 2 miles of gorgeous, sandy beach, why do people feel they have to set up camp directly next to you? This happened to me today and I spent the whole time not reading my book and instead doing the whole I’m-looking-at-you-looking-at-me-isn’t-this-awkward thing. Such fun!

2) Bring kids…

See aforementioned post ‘Shits and giggles…’. Add to this the fact that they dig holes for you, unawares, to fall in to, run past you kicking sand onto your towel (cardinal sin), scream, shout, fight, throw frisbees and balls at your head (four times in one day!), throw tantrums and splash you with freezing cold water. As an Au Pair I am guilty of this. I am deeply sorry.

3) Inadvertently or purposely put sand on someone else’s towel…or your own for that matter…

I know I mentioned this above but I think it warrants it’s own bullet point, don’t you? Sand on towel generally means getting sand in places sand should never be…you know what I’m talking about…. It also seems to disappear until a completely inappropriate moment, five months post holiday, when a weeks worth of debris (or in my case 3 months worth) materialises out of nowhere… I think my suitcase was already two parts sand before I even started packing for this trip.

4) Strike up a conversation with a stranger…

Ok so this one doesn’t always apply but since I got out here, I am constantly being approached by dubious members of the elderly population who are intent on cooing over the kids. One guy just sat and shouted things at us. It’s creepy. At first my Spanish was so rusty I couldn’t even understand what they were saying…if you’re ever in this situation, smile and wave boys, smile and wave…

I would hedge bets  that you’re much safer on this front in England…

5) Throw litter/otherwise pollute…

It’s just gross, and dirty. And don’t you just hate it when the person who has just placed their towel inappropriately close to yours, pulls out a cigarette and starts smoking. Is it just me?

6) Be ridiculously hot / exit the water like Ursula Andress…

If you’re female, it’s just not fair, especially as I haven’t shaved my legs and my hair has inflated to mane like proportions (thanks 83% humidity). If you’re male, you are distracting me from broadening my knowledge base through the art of reading (lol jk I’m actually reading Cosmo…I totally read all of the requisite books for GCSE English…from start to finish….)

Well there you go. Have I missed anything? Is there anything you’d add to my list?

As an added little bonus, here is “Dear beach, 10 things I hate about you…”

Sand in bits, pits and tits

Sand on towel

Sand in handbag

Sand in kindle

Sand in ice cream

Sand in between toes

Sand in…(oh who am I kidding, sand full stop…nasty bugger)

Having to do things other than lying beached like a whale (occupational hazard, don’t become an Au Pair)

Overheating (the worst!)

Getting burnt

Having to pack everything up to go to the loo/buy drink/ buy ice cream as you die from the heat, then having to unpack to resume sunbathing

Well, I hope that was rant-y enough for you..

P.S. If you didn’t get the Madagascar reference, what are you doing with your life? Ditto the Miranda reference if you’re in the UK.

Pits, tits and wobbly bits…

The European beach…

Long stretches of fine, golden sand and clear, azure water; cloudless skies painted with a watercolour sunset, swaying palms…

Well….that and a few added extras…of the wobbly kind…

We British are prudes. Whether we like to admit it or not.

If you head down to say….Southend beach, you’ll see people hiding a multitude of sins beneath wraps, sarongs, shorts, tshirts, beach dresses, and in some cases, Jeans! Actually in quite a lot of cases, on the hottest day in August you’ll still see some nutter walking down the street in a leather jacket (probably a testament and a middle finger up to the fact we’re lucky to get five days of good weather…) We are so hung up about our bodies, we have pioneered new ways of artfully tying our towels (Ooooh look! No hands *shimmies to demonstrate the non-falling-down-ness of said towel….runway walk…and pose….and pose*).

In Europe, however, the rule is: if you’ve got it, flaunt it; if you don’t got it, fuck it, flaunt it anyway.

For the duration of my stay, my views of the ocean have been partially obscured by wayward exposed tits, arses and spare tyres, cellulite and sagging skin.

It’s bloody fantastic.

Never have I ever felt so at ease showing some skin in a public place. Not that I’ve actually shown any more skin than normal…no really…stop it , I’m serious….you have such dirty minds…

I’ve gone back and forth on the “to tatas or not to tatas” debate (I’m sure it’s what Shakespeare actually wanted to write about…it just wasn’t era appropriate) and have, until now, settled on no tatas (No Sex Please, We’re British….oooh and just think of the sunburn. Don’t even get me started on the hazards of g string bikinis…did you read that story in the mail a few years ago?)

For me, this liberation is reminiscent of my holiday a few years back to Tenerife, where there was more German schnitzel than, well….German schnitzel… Back then, I was horrified. Now, I appreciate the charm…

Young or old, fat or thin, pale or tanned…here it just hunkey-dorey to let it all hang out.

Maybe it’s the heat that’s getting to me…I’m sounding decidedly un-British.

Excuse me while I go wear an actual bikini, sans cover-up (shock, horror!) to the beach…

*Does bikini strut…falls into hole that some tearaway has dug in the sand*

P.S. No, I am not just about to run off and join a nudist society, I said I was wearing a bikini…a bikini…oh I give up…

P.P.S. I’m not saying the view was always a particularly nice one…trust me, I’ve seen some things I can never un-see…on the other hand, that group of French boys….ooh la la indeed…

P.P.P.S. Legs or hotdogs ;P