On the beach

Have you ever wondered what you might do if you saw two women making love in the sand-dunes by the beach on the Mediterranean and you had a six year old and a two year old with you, seeing what you were seeing? There are times when you are happy to explain anything to your children and other times when you need a breathing space to prepare a form of words that might express what you to say in language that doesn’t add three-hundred supplementary questions to the one originally asked. So you want to know how I dealt with this? The answer is that I didn’t have to. My eldest daughter who normally manages to ask relentlessly acute questions at any time saw what was going on and carried on with what she was doing. As did the lovers. One of them was about 18 and the other around 55. Sometimes things are beyond our radar – even the highly developed and receptive radar of children. As for me I quite liked the idea that two people were able to have alfresco sex in the middle of January although the reality of an air temperature of 21 degrees at this time of the year is terrifying. There were people swimming in the sea and had I been ten years to the good I may well have been in there myself. But what was beautiful about the day were my daughters telling me how fantastic a day they had had by the sea. They were exhausted by the end of it. Message for parents who don’t know how to get their children to sleep – get them in the fresh air for about six hours. The investment of 6 hours in the day gets you 4 hours in the evening and possibly a mini lie-in too. A great return.

Thinking of Georgia (with link to swimming) as I am at the moment I remember the last time I was there. It was November 2004 and the hotel had a pool which the enthusiastic receptionist had assured me was heated although she said they would have to clean it. I watched the pool cleaner spend around two hours meticulously cleaning the autumn leaf debris out and then I got a call to say it was ready. The possibility that I may need a covering of goose fat and more than my speedos for company had not occurred to me. I stuck one hand in the pool and watched it turn a colour that has only been recognised by scientists in the IKEA paint laboratory. Not wanting to let the ever-willing hotel staff down I did the British thing of diving in and instantly felt my heart seize up so much that I thought it was going to shoot through the roof of my head. My muscles solidified so much that I could barely swim. Two lengths later I was out with assorted Georgians and Russians looking at me like I had three heads. I am not sure if my genitalia have ever been the same again.

Only one gripe today and the was the dog that managed to de-faecate half a metre from where me and my daughters were playing on the beach. The owner of this ‘dog’ – it looked more a furry rat – watched it’s deposit and walked on. No clearing up, no apology and a disdainful look at me which said you shouldn’t have children on the beach when my rat needs to go to the toilet. I realise there are many French people (mostly young) who find this as repulsive as me. But there are many (mostly middle-aged and upwards) who care for no-one but themselves with no sense of social responsibility. Fraternite n’existe pas ici.

Song of the day: Irma Thomas: 'Baby Don’t Look Down'. (one for the lovers)