Something weird happened at the beach yesterday.
No, it wasn’t me getting my kit of again (though it was the same beach), but that guess is pretty warm.
There I was sitting in our little tent enjoying a nice thermos green tea (yes I am 70) after a hearty ocean frolic, looking out to Crazy and MrF in the glistening sea, looking to the right of me along the beach at all the families playing, listening to the chatter of happy people floating on the breeze, looking to the left of me seeing a cheeky root.....
Yep. There was beach rooting not 20m away.
Granted they were being, sort of, subtle with a towel thrown over top. But grinding your arse in the air like you are in an Eric Prydz video sort of gives the game away.
I turned away, surely they couldn’t really be doing that. Was I shocked or amused or even a bit nostalgic? I wasn’t ever a day time beach rooter but it seemed they were in a place where their passion knew no bounds. Even if they were in between two 30+ year old women who were pretending not to watch.
I can hardly get a decent public pash in nowadays without a little person crying out “eeewwwwwwww, WHAT are YOU doing?!”
The woman on the other side of them, she didn’t have a tent to hide behind and pretended to sleep behind big sunnies. But I know I saw her looking at me looking at her as we both muttered “SWTF, really?!” under our breath.
I tried to keep reading my book, but I was a little bit intrigued, fascinated and nosey. I sneaked little peaks around the side of the tent (Mrs Sunglasses was still pretending to sleep, but I knew), I wanted to tweet it to the world (no reception - bah!). It was like watching a ‘Black Lace’ story for real. Seriously, have I really become that sheltered and vanilla that this is a weekend highlight?
But they were rooting!
How would you react to a bit of grown up under-towel action on a busy beach?