Well C’s on her way to Rimini airport taking her delightful cousin P to catch her flight back to the UK. It’s been lovely to have P here this week – on her first visit to Italy. I hope it’s been a nice break for her. We haven’t done a lot – mostly the girls have been happy to catch some rays and just chat and chill, do a little bit of retail therapy and have some nice meals and a bit of wine. But the builders turned up unannounced 3 days ago and have been working non-stop on reinforcing the foundations to the extension (more later) and it’s kind of cramped the girls’ sunbathing style. So they’ve been heading down to the beach and yesterday I went with them, leaving the builders to it. And it turned out to be a good game, good game.
We always tend to head for the beaches at Porto San Giorgio; they are always clean and well-maintained, it’s easy to hire beds and parasols, there are loads of things for the kids to play with, they’ve laid on lots of complimentary loos and showers and the place is loaded with beach-side bars and restaurants, serving great inexpensive food. Plus they’ve created this safe bathing area by establishing a breakwater about 75 metres out from the shore. So you can swim and wade out up to the breakwater in lovely warm water which is never more than 4-5′ deep. Suits me just fine.
Well we’d had a couple of hours there just reading and sunbathing. I’m re-reading all my Bill Bryson stuff for the umpteenth time. I so admire his work. It had reached about 1.30 and we thought we’d have some lunch. We wandered up to this little cafe bar and had a fine lunch – prosciutto and melon, mozzarella and tomato salads, sea food spaghetti, washed down with lashings of cool beer and some crisp frizzante wine. All served by a lovely young waitress. Did I ever mention I like being out here?
C and I were just explaining the game looky likey to P (see posting 28 May 07). I’d noticed that the guy at the table behind us entertaining his grandkids looked the spit of Bob my dad. Well C gave me a 6 score so maybe not quite the spit. Interestingly I see a lot of men who look exactly like my dad and given that I’m his twin separated by 20 years then I guess I’m looking at my future appearance; old guy, ‘big eye’ glasses, bald, strong nose, probable dentures. Easy girls.
We were just thinking about heading back to the loungers when in walks a young guy with his girlfriend. Now there were two things about his appearance which caught the eye a) he was wearing very tight trunks so his johnson stood out (C noticed this first) and b) he had a jutting jaw which made him look like a 20 year old Bruce Forsyth. Now trust me, he was the guy’s double and I claimed 10 points because he even walked like BF – you know that kind of mincing quick step with jaw jutting strongly forward. As he strode confidently up to the waitress I honestly expected (and wished for) him to say ‘Alright my loves?’. His girlfriend was shapely but not the prettiest pebble on the beach but for a Desperate Dan in too-tight trunks, he was batting above his average. If only he’d asked her to ‘Give us a twirl’ before they sat down. I could see he was very keen on her and she was enjoying him playing with her hair and general flirting. I couldn’t help thinking that it could be a big night if he played his cards right.
Well it was no good; C wouldn’t let me stare at them any more and we headed back to the sun-beds. It wasn’t long till I was nodding off. I’m becoming more and more tuned into the early afternoon siesta. If I ever went back to working in an office environment I’d have to go and find a cubby-hole to catch some zzz’s in the afternoon. But I ain’t heading back to it so no problemo.
I must have dozed off for a good hour or so because I woke up rather hot and a little scorched. C suggested we head off for a swim – P and R were already enjoying themselves in the surf so off we toddled down to the water. It was so warm and refreshing. I’m a hopeless swimmer and just float around on my back to be honest until the effort gets too much (about 7 minutes) or until I consume too much salt-water (about 3 minutes usually). I had finished the back float and was just showing R my best Toulouse-Lautrec impersonation – walking on my knees in shallow water – when C and P gigglingly called over to point out something happening on the breakwater. It was only a couple having outdoor carnal knowledge in full view of the madding crowd. I didn’t have my glasses on but even I could make out she was on top and pumping him with considerable gusto and athleticism.
We watched snatchingly for a good 10 -15 minutes – as were most people on the beach as it happens, in case you were wondering about my pervy credentials. It was kind of hard (could have phrased that better) not to, to be honest. I mean how often do you see that sort of thing performed in broad daylight in a public space, with lots of kids around, in a Catholic society? Holy Mary. Well after 20 minutes or so C and P were starting to talk girly-jokey (and not a little admiringly I thought) about his evident staying power – hmm. I knew where this was headed so I declared it was all too unseemly and trundled off back to the sun-beds. Disgusted of le Marche picked up Bill Bryson’s ‘Notes From a Big Country’ and focused on the written word rather than the live entertainment.
C and P appeared 5-10 minutes later and quite excitedly asked me to guess who the couple were – they’d at long last finished their copulating dogs impression and had waded back up to the beach. Who cares? I said disinterestingly, Shaggy and Scooby Doo? Count F*ckula and his bride? Princess Margaret and just about anyone from the Irish, Scots or Coldstream Guards? Nope said C; it was only young Brucie and Anthea. Well stone me. Now I know C and P were probably thinking ‘Didn’t he do well?’ but I’m pretty sure I heard her screaming ‘Higher, no lower!’ with a note of disappointment in her voice. Sorry love, you get nothing for a pair, not in this game….