Before I go away for a real holiday where I can get really sunburnt, I went away for just the weekend to my friends beach house. Although just under an hours ride away it posed a welcome relief from; well, from home.
Arriving late Friday night, after a cramped and hot car ride we gave in to our instinct to cool down and jumped straight into the sea. However, this lasted about ten minutes before we ran shivering back up the beach, slipped and slid our way across the tiled floors and hastily unpacked our beach towels. At least we tried.
I personally am not a massive fan of the beach. I'd rather go somewhere in the countryside than to the seaside; but there is something about waking up to the sea every morning. Hearing the gulls and the waves and walking along the shore before coming back in for breakfast. Something so removed from everyday life. That is until you return and your flip flops which you placed so lovingly upon the beach are now floating away on high tide. You have no choice but to brave the freezing temperatures and look entirely ungraceful as you splash forward to retrieve your precious footwear. Yet we returned to find a cup of coffee and some toast waiting which we happily accepted.
Through all of the mosquito bites, and the sunburn and the salt and the sand; my favorite aspect of returning to the beach house each summer is for one reason. Midnight swims. Although I appear to be completely alone in this sentiment. Due to some untapped primal instinct (or the opening scene of Jaws), not one of my fellow beach companions enjoys the thought of going into the water in the dark. So they more than willingly let me go it alone. I personally love swimming through the ink black water, with the exception of that silvery slice of moonlight. Always to my left and always avoiding me when I try to swim in it. It's like the reverse of trying to jump on your own shadow. After some time of my fruitless game I'll get out and join my friends on the beach.
After more minor details such as BBQ's, sunbathing, volleyball and of course Ring of Fire, I left. Walked out the door and down the drive as red and white as any England shirt you may see. I was very proud until Sunday's game; which I'll leave for some more sport inclined Journo to comment on. Until then, I'm going to go sunbathe some more. Wish me luck.
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