Uh oh! lovely readers, I’m a tad disturbed! Male tourists are strolling through the Villages wearing just their DTs.* Here I am I’m sitting in a breezy little beachside restaurant sipping my Aperol when I hear the Scot at the adjoining table muttering ‘Walk doon beach leck dat e’ oome’nye’d be knifed ye wooud!’ to the back of his girlfriend’s head. She didn’t hear; too busy eyeing up a package in a pink pair, her expression vacillating between repulsion, curiosity and lust. Oh! and hey you! Yes you, stud over there proudly sporting the white ones? It’s not cold today my friend, not cold at all.
I’m also disturbed to see every female on the beach regardless of nationality, shape, size, age or original gender sporting a bikini. The ones that don’t entirely cover the butt cheeks. Clearly ‘de rigueur’ on the Italian Riviera. My elegant one-piece suddenly non ‘de-rigueur’ – my butt screaming otherwise.
And I’m particularly disturbed that, aside from the harsh disregard for ‘slip, slop, slap,’** I’ll need to hand over €20 for a ragged deck chair, a folded umbrella and the privilege of sitting on the grey pebbly beach in very close proximity to all that DT/bikini clad slow roasting flesh. Too cosy by far.
It’s all just too disturbing so I’ve poured another wine. Today I will think about the prospect of Australia clearing the national deficit in just one week by adopting a similar ‘pay for privilege’ beach plan. Tomorrow I will start a diet consisting of a single strand of pasta and an expresso. Needs must if I’m to ‘fit in’. Meanwhile, a few snaps to put you in this distressing moment (‘cept for the DT loving men – privacy and all that)
(Monterosso main beach)
(Taken in Nice, the same scene in Monterosso – uncomfortable pebbles)
* Speedo swimming trunks, commonly known as ‘Dick Togs’ ‘budgie smugglers’, ‘junk trunks’ and ‘Tonys’. (in honour of Tony Abbot, leader of the AU opposition party, who has a propensity for red ones)
**Slip on a shirt, Slop on sunscreen and Slap on a hat – an Australian anti-skin cancer campaign.
life-threatening failure to connect. Si! ‘Sufficiente per il vostro bisogno!’* Type this into trusty Google Translate and one MiFi purchase, SIM transfer, new 10G iPhone SIM for critical ‘Where the fuck am I?’ Google Maps and ‘No I didn’t ask for a washing machine!’ Google Translate later, problem sorted. Happy days. Then my mouse died.
