There was a lad by the pool this morning who I hadn’t seen before. He had a tattoo, one that it is. It was of the England football badge. For me this is an odd choice if you’re just going to have one tattoo. I am of course discounting any other tattoos he may have had on his penis and arse I must admit. I am not a big tattoo fan admittedly. But to like football enough to tattoo the England badge on yourself – but NOT like a club team enough to have done likewise is just odd (the way I see it). It’s like just having a tattoo saying girls on your arm rather than the name of a specific girl. Not exactly like it I’ll give you.
His presence around the pool was not why we left the hotel, honest. But we did leave the hotel and investigated the local beach. It was one of those pebble ones. Some people prefer these to sand beaches. I don’t follow this. Pebble beaches are made of stones – large(ish) pieces of stone, which is quite a hard substance. Sand beaches are made of sand, which are made of extremely tiny pieces of stone, which have been ground down from big stones by the sea (or “sand”). Sand is comfortable to walk on pebbles are uncomfortable. Balancing while you are walking on a pebble beach is a nightmare, it is inevitable you will sway a bit and end up – in an effort not to put pressure on one foot and causing yourself pain – putting pressure on the other foot. I did this a number of times, my body’s involuntary reaction to make a short intake of breath, or – in extreme circumstances – to say “owww”. I couldn’t wait to get off there.
To get off there was not as easy as you might think: there were no clear exits, other than the one right down at the other end of the beach – from which we had entered (the beach). We just walked through a hotel though – it was that easy. For a moment it was a great relief that we had found a way off the beach. However relief was soon replaced by a sickening feeling: it was exactly this level of lax security that had allowed terrorists to commit the atrocities of 9/11. Sure MJEA and I had navigated a way through hotels but in a way we were sick terrorists, failing to respect the consensus that the paths off the beach were strictly for the people staying at this hotel. Our neglect for this convention was a nail bomb in the face of all the people who did respect it.
That was soon put into perspective: though we hadn’t known it we had chosen the best possible hotel to pass through. We were now a lot nearer than our hotel then we thought we would be, and were A HELL of a lot nearer than we would have been had our route home been a reflection of our route there. As if this wasn’t enough of a reward, we saw a big poster for a sports bar advertising it would be showing the United game tomorrow. I had located a couple of possible venues – but they were shit. This was a sports bar…with a crazy golf course!! We had found the promised land, a sports bar with crazy golf and just around the corner from the hotel. All because we cut through a hotel. This is why people do crimes – rewards without the hard work.
Of course life isn’t that easy, there would have to be something bad happen: that night it was karaoke in the hotel bar. Though we were in our room we could hear lots of fat northern people singing Wonderwall, Abba and other shit. You couldn’t really hear the music either. So it was just like listening to fat drunk people shout the words of pop songs from the last 30 years – of course it was like that because that is what it was.
Through the ear pain I managed to finish Skagboys. I really liked it; though I would struggle to class it as a great book. There was some stuff at the end which seemed a bit forced on to have a point to finish the book. But these characters are just brilliant people to be immersed in – if you like them, which I do. In fact Francis Begbie might be the best character created in the last 30 years. There – I said it.
Here is a photo from the beach: it’s a picture taken by my phone when I was trying to look at a previous picture but couldn’t see the screen in the sun.