Wednesday, 30 May 2012

Sun, Sea and Sandwiches

It was Sunday, it was early (opinion is divided as to how early. I think it was “You’re shitting me O’clock” Beloved believes it was “virtually night time!” I think I’m right – if it were nearly night time my aim would have been better) when I was rudely rousted from my bed, forced to get dressed and bundled in the car with a flask of coffee and a bread roll.

I drank the entire flask of coffee. And we stopped at a coffee shop for a giant cup of coffee to go. And an iced coffee that I drank right after that. At this point I was capable of polysyllabic communication and realised a) we were out of coffee! STOP! And b) where the hell were we actually going and why?

“You’ll see!” was the only answer, with an annoying about of chipperness. I was to “enjoy the ride.” And apparently “enjoying the ride” means I’m not allowed to pull out the kindle and read.

After a moment of driving (and watching for a coffee shop) beloved has paroxysm of delight because he can see… the SEA! I do not even slightly understand Beloved’s fascination with salt water.

We arrive at the beach and he throws off his shirt and runs to cavort in the sea (salt water does not go near my hair. Ever) under the blazing sun (seriously, it was ridiculously hot) while I drop in at a local chemist and ask for SPF 9,000,000 sun cream and some aftersun for the inevitable and flop down on a blanket on the beach (to keep away that horrible horrible sand. I hate sand) with my kindle. Beloved eventually flops down to dry in the sun and I get to slather a thick, creamy substance all over his half naked body. (He protests, as usual that he wants to tan. Every year he tries to tan. He has the skin tone of Edward Cullen. He cannot tan).

While I am, grudigingly, inclined to admit that a day on the beach (so long as one can avoid the evil of sand and the vileness of salt water) eating ice creams and drinking coffee isn’t the worst way to spend the day (but ye gods it was hot) but I put my foot down at picnicking on the beach. Sand and food do not mix.

So, after using the blanket to protect the car from Beloved who was now salty, slimy, sandy and sweaty (despite vigorous towelling on his part to convince me to let him come near me while being all manky. See, this is why I can’t get behind the sexiness of the beach – sure there’s eye candy but it’s yucky as well) and moved more inland to green and pleasant pastures.

After I grudgingly accepting that we weren’t, necessarily, going to be inundated and overwhelmed by ants, wasps, flies and snarks, we unloaded Beloved’s picnic. Which contains all the excess food we’d BBQed on Saturday, fresh bread, butter and other baked lovelies and pickles. And no cutlery. Ah Beloved. (Did you know it’s quite easy to spread butter on bread with a credit card?)

I have conceded that actually being outside isn’t entirely awful all of the time. Just most of the time. And if he wakes me up before 11:00 on a Sunday again I may kill him