Beaches: The sun is out and so is the flesh

At the Beach by Tom NashWell, summer’s been delayed here in the south-west it seems. But we have had enough good weather for me to do this post.

As is British tradition, whenever the sun peeks through the clouds for an extended period of time, it’s off to the nearest body of water to proudly display parts of our bodies that we don’t even like our other halves looking at on most days.

While you’re there, you might just run into:

The arsehole parent
This character has already been noted by my esteemed homeslice Luke Tucker in a far more eloquent manner than I ever could, but fuck it, I’ll have a pop anyway.

So this is the parent that spends the entire day bollocking their kids at full volume, no matter how small the indiscretion. In the process they ruin any opportunity for their children to have fun and the people unfortunate enough to be near them to relax and enjoy themselves too. They do this under the guise of ‘good parenting’, blissfully unaware of the pity everyone feels for their poor, hen-pecked offspring, who will probably move out at sixteen into a shitty bedsit with a pervy landlord that they’ll have to sleep with when they can’t make the rent… And it all starts here on the sand…

The arsehole child
Occasionally with the arsehole parent, but more often with some fucker that is blissfully unaware of what a odious human they have produced. This is the little shit that thinks they can do what they like and runs about screaming, kicking over sandcastles, shitting in the sea and just generally being abhorrent. If you make eye-contact with their owner, they just give you that dopey shrug and grin combo at says ‘What you gonna do, eh?’

Fucking discipline your child, that’s what.

The muscle-man
On a rare break between gym sessions (like the last time we met them), this is a chance to grease up the abs and guns and go show those bad boys off. Ideally they like to keep moving, as just like sharks dying when they stop moving, these lot need to be exercising at all times, incase they start losing muscle-mass. So you will usually see them swaggering up and down the waterline in pairs, or occasionally jogging, but only if it’s midday and it’s about 30°c. And they always seem to be wearing wrap-around sunglasses…

The horny teenage boy
This fella brings at least one horny teenage wing-man with him and a frisbee too. The general plan is to locate some lovely laydeez and start bussing their mad frisbee skillz near them. Strategically placed ‘stray’ throws provide opportunities for closer inspections and then, if those inspections prove positive, another can be a conversation starter. Especially if you hit the pretty one in the face.

The cunt with a guitar (sorry Mum, but no other word was even close to being as appropriate)
Usually found in the evening by a fire that would make Ray Mears weep in shame, the fucker never rings ahead to check people would be interested in hearing him play, he just turns up with his axe and starts strumming away, ‘entertaining’ his companions (and anyone else unfortunate enough to be in earshot) with awful stop-start renditions of songs by Bob Dylan and whatever depressing indie folk band/singer students think they’re cool for listening to at the moment, until he forgets the words in the second verse or stops to explain that the chord progression in the next bit is quite difficult and he hasn’t quite mastered it yet. Oh, and he’ll play Wonderwall at some point too. They always fucking play Wonderwall*.

The pervert
Know who this is? Every bloke! Why do you think we buy mirrored sunglasses? Duh.

Oh no… I’ve let the secret out. Fu-uck…

*Yes, it is a good song. But try listening to it out of choice after you’ve heard at least one person shit on it at every open-mic night you’ve ever been to.