Isle of Wight – Day 2

Tuesday 25^th July.

I awoke with a start, I had no idea where I was. My sticky left eye hurt as I tried to peel it open. Another menopausal delight I have had to suffer with. Fuck, I had left my very expensive sticky eye mist at home. I grabbed my glass of water and gently tipped it onto my eyelid. As the cool liquid flowed down my cheek I noticed Ruby at the end of the bed staring at me. Don’t ask I screeched as she ran out crying.  The water engulfed my ruddy face and I coughed and spluttered and swore to the almighty above.

The noise from the kitchen was causing me concern. Carolyn was explaining to the girls why we could not take scooters, dollies, a skateboard and a ruddy Buzz Lightyear toy to the beach.  I screamed from the bedroom, NO NO NO! And coughed a little.

I dragged my aching bones into the kitchen regretting guzzling the cheap bottle of bubbles to myself last night.  Since Carolyn had stopped drinking I feel as though I have lost a limb. My lip quivered for a nano second, a sadness engulfed me, and then went away.  I walked into the kitchen, my skeletal toes crackled with each slow step. I swallowed my calcium tabs, my vitamin tabs, my thyroid tabs, a couple of nurofen and drank my daily pint of hot water and lemon. Today we were off to the beach and I felt like shit!

We left the house like a family of gypsies. Bags of towels, bags of buckets of spades, bags of food and bags of ruddy bags. FFS I thought, I used to laugh out loud at families like us – now I’m one of them. I decided not to bring my bathing suit, I had slipped it on in Henley before we left and was quite shocked to see how much weight I had put on. I had fatty testicles hanging from under each armpit, fat wings on my back and what I can only describe as a front bottom asshole.  As I stood in front of the mirror with my tight shiny suit on, arms up, legs apart, there was no way I could be seen in any ruddy country in any ruddy sea.  I walked across my room, feeling a slight pinch around my nether regions.  I was too old for this – give me an old pair of black knickers and a beach in St Tropez where my titties can spread their wings and fall like udders covered in Ambre Solaire oil anyday.  I’m no swimming costume kinda gal.  With that I ripped it off and binned it.

The beach was sandy and pebbly. The tide was out. The coffee/bar was open and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The girls skipped and danced with excitement. It was quite a long way to the sea as the tide was so far out, but I managed to find a good spot on the pebbles. And so we started to unpack, and unpack, and lay down the rugs, the towels, and get out the plastic crap. I managed to bundle all the towels under my head so I was not uncomfortable as I continued to read my Mindfulness book. I turned on my kindle and started to breathe in slowly through my nose and out my mouth. I was in the moment. It was at that point I heard the buzzing of an insect, an insect I knew only too well.  The wasp had found the food and was circling it like Indians round a wagon trail. I dread to think what the holidaymakers thought as they sat drinking their tea from the cafe above the beach as I simulated a woman fitting below, wailing and thrusting my arms around like Kate Bush on acid. The wasp was teasing me, flying into my face and then off into the air as I yelled obscenities and tried hard to hit it with anything close by.  I threw the bucket of shells into the air and each shell came crashing down upon us like a ruddy hail shower

I wiped the tears away from the girls and told Carolyn we were moving. I suggested we pack the food, the plastic buckets, the towels, and anything else we could find and move further away from the sea,  as the tide was coming in.  As I sat at the cafe looking down at Carolyn carrying the heavy bags to our new location, I went back to my mindfulness; I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, ejected that deep breath, sipped my chilled wine and squashed the wasp that landed on the table.  Fuck you Mr Wasp.  Fuck You.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isle of Wight – shopping

 

Monday 24^th July

Is it still only Monday I thought as we headed straight to the supermarket. The trip arduous. The roads thin, bendy, and vomit enducing. I should have driven myself as Carolyn took a corner like a blind man racing. I hung onto the rail above my head, silently spitting venom. The girls swayed from left to right, Ruby felt sick. Vivien just squeaked. We were all hungry and tired. The girls were demanding music, so I put on an old Bob Dylan number and got lost in Maggie’s Farm until Carolyn rudely swapped Bob for Bruno Mars. I was outruddynumbered. I sat back, closed my eyes, and reminisced the good old days when I had no responsibilities. The emergency stop shook me to the core, my body lurched forward and the water I was sipping travelled up my nose as I snorted in anger, and into my eyes. Carolyn was swearing at the woman in front and I was swearing just because I could.  We had arrived at the supermarket.

My gusset was damp. The girls were red faced and crying with hunger and tiredness. Carolyn just hungry.  I walked in, ordered Carolyn to take the trolley and I would grab the food. The girls shivered and turned blue down the refridgated isle. People stared. I stared back. The whole ruddy experience was a nightmare. I broke away and found myself in the wine isle where I caressed a bottle of Margaux and dribbled at the Bollinger.  Alas we had a budget, so I came away with poor man’s champagne and a bottle of Rose.  Oh how the good old days have gone.

The house was fabulous, as always. Plenty of space, and spitting distance to the beach. The sun was out and the sky blue. Let’s hit it I said and off we went.  Surely it must be time for a snifter?