Grimble and G go to the beach

Day 4:image

Grimble felt the holiday would be wasted if the only thing they did was sit around the hotel pool all day. Instead, she decided that they should aim for the major sight of Calella: the lighthouse. Then, they could go on the beach where they could sit around the sea all day.

In addition, Grimble and G had purchased beach equipment from Chipping Norton’s super posh Beales. They had a parasol with matching cool box and even matching ingeniously designed beach mats with integrated head rests. Grimble was desperate to try them. These items of beauty had been discounted by 75% because essentially the UK summer never really commenced and Chipping Norton is a long way from the sea.

The flaw with the heavy discount meant stock had been limited. The main matching colour left was a summery peachy pink. But G refused to have his chair in that puffy colour and located, somewhere in the nether regions of the store, a blue one with the same pattern, same style but distinctly and definitely not peachy pink. Despite this spoiling the colour coordination of Grimble’s finds, G was insistent that this would be his chair and no other.

Now in Spain, with an almost matching set of beach furnishings, Grimble had decided today was beach day. She had only to convince grizzly morning G of the wisdom of her decision. There were some mental hurdles to overcome: G did not like people crowds, he wasn’t entirely convinced by the texture of sand and he would see little point walking to look at a lighthouse whose image was easily visible online. There was only one way to make this day palatable to G and that was through food. If she could convince G to think with his tummy, they would end up on the beach. At her waking hour of 8am, she did Trip Advisor research and found a beach side cafe with a 4.5 rating. Armed with this information, she woke grizzly morning G with the promise of cooked breakfast food. This had the desired effect. Grimble wouldn’t say the grizzle departed entirely but there was hope that they would leave the hotel.

Clearly, whilst they were down there, they might as well use the beach, Grimble expounded to G and felt a slight grizzle returning. Quickly, she decided to forgo the 20 litre cool bag and stick to chairs and parasol for carrying purposes. Grimble packed her lady bag with essentials: sun cream, tissues, toothpicks and foreign money and gave G the neatly folding chairs with shoulder strap whilst she took charge of the parasol. She checked G was OK leaving the beach towels knowing full well he hated carrying anything at all and they departed.

About 200 metres onto the street, they were at a standstill as G started wrestling with the perfectly folded chairs saying they were impossible to carry. Grimble took the objects from him and deftly strung them over her shoulder. G immediately looked happy and relieved at the release from this burden until she handed him the compact parasol whereupon he grunted a little.

They arrived at the nautical named Marine restaurant. Despite the high Trip Advisor rating, Grimble had misgivings. There were too many poorly taken and faded photos of apparently appetising dishes. However, this was the final option before the lighthouse and to turn G around to return to previously passed places would inevitably lead them straight back to the hotel and the pool as he didn’t react well to returning.

The place was alarmingly German. G and Grimble ordered the closest item to a cooked breakfast. G’s was a hotchpotch of fried eggs, that weird streaky foreign bacon, the paradoxically named skinny chips as well as a random frikadelle disguised as a beef burger under onions. Grimble opted for the safer beans on toast with eggs which also were delivered with chips. Grimble immediately noted that there was no butter on her toast with beans and sighed with disappointment at how Johnny foreigner could so easily miss the necessary detail.

The toast deserved a special mention. It was made from the cheapest processed white bread that on entering a toaster had all moisture sucked from it. In effect, the cook inadvertently created awful melba toast. As soon as G attempted to butter the brittle bread, it ricocheted across the promenade hitting unsuspecting tourists with small children who were somewhat disconcerted at bread shrapnel. Grimble made a mental note that future breakfasts would be cheese, ham and coffee on the balcony and G would have to like it. How the place had gained such a high rating was a mystery or down to the owner having a large extended network of family and friends kind enough to write a myriad of positive reviews.

Filled with some sustenance that had struggled to place itself somewhere between breakfast, brunch or lunch, G and Grimble marched on to the lighthouse and they dutifully looked up at it. Finally, it was beach time. The lighthouse was placed conveniently at the end of the main beach strip next to a cove: La Roca Grossa. This had fewer crowds and Grimble was convinced this would suit G better. As they peered down from the lighthouse viewpoint, it was clear from their promontory, that this cove was indeed a tranquil setting. There were only a few people. However, as they surveyed this scene, both G and Grimble noticed that there was a surfeit of wizened todgers on view. It’s peace, tranquillity and space was because it was nudist. And nudist not in the way G had hoped for.

Therefore, they joined the main beach and set out their almost perfectly matching beach furniture. The sand wasn’t too soft luckily as the Costa Maresme is known for a sea breeze, which understated the gale force wind, that meant G took mastery of the parasol to ensure it remained part of their beach set. Their mats were surprisingly comfortable and, as their scheduling was later that expected, the beach quieted soon as the Spanish left for lunch and siesta.

In fact, there was a sense of contentment for G and Grimble. G only mentioned a few times how he’d have liked a dip in the sea had Grimble brought the towels. Grimble would have responded but every time she turned to face G, her eyes were averted to the naked old man standing on a rock, proudly displaying his cock. She really did think the todger octogenarian should stay on his portion of naked beach.

She knew that G would easily tire of the beach despite its evident loveliness and Grimble was determined to stay til at least late lunch. Thus, she craftily kept G beach ridden by commenting on this and that: sighting a lovely bikini did the trick for a while. Finally, against her better judgement, she summoned the smiley Thai lady to G and he had a delightful 5€ back massage which he felt may have been more relaxing had he not had a beach audience. He was also nervous when she offered for an extra 5€ to work on the top of his legs as happy ending and beach time was incongruous.

So content was Grimble with G’s attitude to the beach, that with a sense of warmth and generosity, she asked G to decide on what he’d like for lunch. This was a basic and foolish error on Grimble’s part. G in charge of sustenance is not a natural thing and as soon as she uttered this invite, she regretted it. However, it could not be revoked and surely G would look at all the wonderful Spanish restaurants and select one. As they passed what seemed to be number 15, Grimble looked at G with hope and expectancy. He grunted. She, fast losing patience, demanded to know what food thoughts were in his head. Chips…hot dog was the alarming reply.

And so it was that G and Grimble finally ended up in a poorly rated Italian in the heart of the tourist centre. The menu purposely mislead as to accompaniments ensuring that they ordered additional potatoes to the mound already on G’s plate.

Grimble fidgeted sullenly with her dull clams and spaghetti and vowed this disastrous culinary debacle would be rectified. There would be no more visits to Johnny foreigner restaurants unless Johnny foreigner happened to be the indigenous Spanish population which would be where all future victuals would be enjoyed. Nor carried off on the crest of a beach wave, would she ever request that G took on their food selection. This was clearly work for Grimble whilst G’s work was structural such as parasol installation.

In addition, his transgression would be punished post siesta with Grimble demanding a short shopping trip at the unnaturally busy 6pm. If he complied with good grace, Grimble vowed to take G for a post shopping shandy. She swirled her spaghetti a little more and smiled at her magnificent benevolence.

Published by

Annette Juniper Grimble

Follow us as we blunder through our lives. When should we put up the Christmas tree? Should we move to Spain or just go on holiday? Will we ever clear out the cupboard of doom? Is it a prosecco night or a red? Have I really got anxiety or do I just need to toughen up a bit? Here I am, getting closer to a very significant birthday. Not one with a zero in it but one which will allow me to feasibly remove the shackles of sensible employment with some cash in my back pocket and a song in my heart. As that point draws nearer, G and I face our mid life with apprehension and joy.

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