I’ve never been one for beaches, I cba with all that carrying towels, sun cream, and a beach umbrella down to the beach after fighting for a parking spot, then five minutes after laying down, getting bored, but thinking, ‘Can’t move, we’ll lose our spot.’
My first wife could suffer it, we could only afford Spain in those days, and she’d slather the kids in sun cream, keep an eye on them, then top them up with the sun cream, while I’d slink off in search of a beach bar in the shade, and knock back a couple of café solos and shots of coñac.
My next inamorata, a Polish girl, could have lived on a beach, she loved them.
My circumstances had changed by then, and we’d sometimes spend all of June in NYC, me bumming around Manhattan and Queens, while she would spend all day at Jones Beach, Long Island, we’d meet up for dinner in Astoria, or Jackson Heights if we felt like a curry.
Maybe five years after she kicked me into touch, I had the dumb luck to meet the woman that I’m married to now.
She’s a whacky redhead, so has to be careful with the sun, so we rent pool homes in the southern U.S., where she’ll sit in the shade around the pool, sipping grapefruit juice until noon, then switches to vodka tonics, suits both of us.
) - any issues with cars rusting prematurely? I'd like to live near the sea in future but I'm worried that it's not suitable for a petrolhead.
