I got home from my little shop this evening in a state of sweatiness. My but it was hot today, and I hankered to cool down.
So I decided to have a snack instead of dinner and then go for a swim, and thus had two slices of bread toasted, one with crab pate upon it and the other heavily smeared with caramelised onion humus. While eating I was listening, as I am now, to the lovely Lana del Ray’s Born to Die. Her voice tingles somewhere between a couple of mine vertebrae. My hausfrau, the lovely Juanita, was getting ready to go to work and thought I could have found a better use for my evening, but we agreed to disagree.
It’s only a fifteen minute brisk stroll to the beach so probably as she was tending her first catheterised matriarch of the evening, I was sitting on the pebbles in the rays of the slowly descending sun, wondering how cool the water would be and if I maybe could have found a better way to spend the evening after all, like sitting out in the garden with a bottle or two of German lager.
I needn’t have worried about the sea temperature, two or three days of sunshine have raised it up to ten or eleven degrees, so it was smoothly comfortable after the initial testicle shrivelling chill. I swam and frolicked for fifteen or twenty minutes before emerging dripping and flaccid out of the gentle swell and sat for a short while longer on the beach. It was a pleasant walk home, and the rising full moon was as high above the horizon as was the setting sun on the opposite side of the sky. I bumped into my mate Andy who was out testing a new lens on his camera.
“You want to take my picture Andy?” I asked.
“Nah, mate. This is a new lens. It’s for landscapes. Not portraits. And why would I want a photo of you? I can see your ugly mush every day. If I wanted to.” There’s being told and there’s being told, no?
“Suit yourself. You could always fuck off up to the top of the hill and get a wide angle of the sun and moon at opposite sides of the sky?” I suggested with breathtaking helpfulness I thought. As Lana sings, I’m scared I’ll meet you on the other side, was the thought hovering just below awareness somewhere in the crowded space between my ears or even behind my eyes.
“Nah mate,” he said without even thinking about it. “See you tomorrow. Anyway, why are you dripping wet?”
“Because I didn’t bring a towel. Yeah, see you Andy.” I said and wandered homeward, my loins girded yet uncomfortably salty and moist.
After a bath and a coffee, I went on Amazon and ordered me a new pair of water shoes. Mainly because Juanita said she doesn’t think I’ll need to get anything new for holiday. Hopefully they’ll be here before we go away next week.