The Post-Coastal Paradigm
The coast is always a letdown, especially the beaches. I may not find them so tiresome and deflating if they were nicely sandy and didn’t smell like mysterious rotting things.
Here is a quick transcript of my brief beach affair. I arrived, not at the beach (much to my disappointment) but at the scout hut to find lots of people i didn’t know or like and two vehicles of vexation. After boarding a rust-mound of malaise and enduring a arduous and lurching journey we arrived at the ‘beach’ (for want o a better name). The thing i call beach was about six meters of rocks and pebbles with about one square meter of sand that i could see; and i was really looking!
I decided to go in the sea, i don’t regret this but i also didn’t enjoy it. I swam for a bit then dried myself off, what more is there to say about swimming? except maybe “if you haven’t bothered to learn how to swim by now, you deserve to drown. GO FACEPLANT A PUDDLE”
Counter to popular belief the sea wasn’t cold and the breeze was nice and it was all quite pleasant, in the same way that being stabbed in the leg is pleasant, because, lets face it, your happy it wasnt your face. So after i had endured the legshanking beach experience we all limped to the rust-blocks and strained our way home.
