Guarding of the family jewels

Playa de L'Ampolla - Image Teulada-Moraira Ajuntament

CROWDED beaches are one of my pet hates.  So when friends invited us to a beach picnic the other week, it was only under threat from the Princess regarding the separation of certain parts of my body from the rest of it, I reluctantly agreed to go.
I am not anti-social – far from it – but my fears were confirmed when we arrived at a busy La Zenia Beach full of screeching kids and the thumping sound of Zumba music.
Luckily it was late afternoon, and so after shuffling around in the sand for a bit and much to my relief and surprise, we eventually found a fairly open space to plonk ourselves down.
Near to us was an encampment of young, well built (damn it) good looking Spanish blokes who were simply standing around posing.  Nothing much was being said and I thought to myself: why the heck don’t you take a swim or at least engage in a bit of banter, instead of admiring yourselves like a bunch of Narcissuses… or is that narcissi?  
Anyway the most energetic activity seemed to be readjustment of their family jewels from time to time or checking their mobile phones.
It was later on, when they started to pack up and leave, things became clear and we discovered we had inadvertently parked ourselves in the centre of their volleyball area. Oh well, tough.
The beach was rapidly clearing by 7pm, and our mouths fell open when an elderly man arrived carrying a metal detector, and proceeded to scan each pitch as it was vacated, shamelessly looking for articles of value that may have been inadvertently dropped.
He was finding stuff too and slipped several items into his pocket. I guess it was lucky for those young men that they held on to their valuables.

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Comments


    • Douglas Dewar

      31 July 2015 • 03:39

      If you are going to make your presence known as soon as you step onto the 200° sand, act as though you are a politician and nothing bothers you.
      Adjust your nut sack in the speedos, and pretend to do a mating dance to cool your burning feet.
      Check out all of the women, it doesn’t matter if they are young or old tarts, then proceed nonchalantly into the water, not in the least worried that your ankle socks are getting wet, walk confidently back to your deckchair and await the throngs of women from Rotherham to descend on you.

      Reply

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