When I awoke, I had the feeling that there was an urgent task to be done that day. This was not the case and we had no pressing engagements until the New Year 1984, so we sidled down to the beach.
On our initial dips we utilised the face mask that we had bought in Greece, but it revealed little but a submarine sandstorm and a few seashells. We were joined by the Austrian woman we’d shared a taxi with on Saturday. She gave us a chat on the merits of Goan beaches, telling us that they were uncrowded, safe for swimming, shading palm trees, available alcoholic drinks and picturesque inland scenery, and a rundown of the eating delights of Singapore.
When she moved on, we had a coffee in the shade offered by the Velvet Dawn Restaurant. We buggered about a bit more in the sea until I thought it was time to retreat from the sun, which was trying the sneaky approach to burning skin, using cloud cover as a deceptive mask. A lunchtime meal and a photo session ensued at the Shangri-La.
We spent the afternoon exploring the seemingly endless beach that started at the Kovalum Ashok Hotel and stretched away to the north. Wealthy Indians stood about on the initial bit, dressed up but not appearing to know quite what to do. Some took family photographs arranging their subjects in strict formal poses against the backdrop of the sea.
Some of the younger ones splashed about in the surf but were reluctant to go out more than waist deep. Some of them lay in the shallows with the water lapping around them and some just stood fully clothed in Western garb thigh-deep in the water.
We walked along the sugary sand with a blazing sun on our left and palm trees on our right. Beyond the palms were huts and shallow lakes that were probably cultivated paddy fields. We walked for half and hour, relatively undisturbed, for there were few people about.
As we neared a fishing settlement, we were assailed by questioning natives. “Where are you going”? “You are coming from”? “You want good boat trip”? We did an about-turn and headed back. Near the Ashok we had a lemon soda in a small, blue-painted restaurant. Two northern English wazzocks with bleached punky hairdos posed with fags (cigarettes) in the corner.
Wazzock: NOUN, BRITISH, informal: a stupid or annoying person.
synonyms:
idiot · halfwit · nincompoop · blockhead · buffoon · dunce · dolt · ignoramus · cretin · imbecile · dullard · moron · simpleton · clod · dope · ninny · chump · dimwit · nitwit · goon · dumbo · dummy · dum-dum · dumb-bell · loon · jackass · bonehead · fathead · numbskull · dunderhead · chucklehead · knucklehead · muttonhead · pudding-head · thickhead · wooden-head · airhead · pinhead · lamebrain · pea-brain · birdbrain · zombie · jerk · nerd · dipstick · donkey · noodle · nit · numpty · twit · clot · ass · goat · plonker · berk · prat · pillock · wally · git · divvy · nerk · twerp · charlie · mug · muppet · nyaff · balloon · sumph · gowk · gobdaw · schmuck · bozo · boob · lamer · turkey · schlepper · chowderhead · dumbhead · dumbass · goofball · goof · goofus · galoot · dork · lummox · klutz · putz · schlemiel · sap · meatball · gink · cluck · clunk · ding-dong · dingbat · wiener · weeny · dip · simp · spud · coot · palooka · poop · squarehead · yo-yo · dingleberry · wing nut · drongo · dill · alec · galah · nong · bogan · poon · boofhead · mompara · tomfool · noddy · clodpole · loggerhead · spoony · mooncalf.
After supper we went for a swim in the sea in the dark. It was very eerie as the black sea water rumbled and roared and white surf would suddenly rear in front of you. We kept to the shallows as twice today we had overheard talk of recent drownings here.
We ran along the beach at the water's edge and by the Northern rocks a demented soul lay half submerged and cackling. We were already feeling jittery, despite the close proximity of the well-lit beach bars, so we fled back towards the lighthouse.
Following a shower, we were back in the Shangri-La. Despite the departure of the Cindy’s this afternoon the Danish contingent were still as big as ever and an animated discussion was underway, heads bobbing and bouncing with merriment.
On a more positive note, one of their number had contributed a cassette tape with some new material on it, including David Bowie and Bruce Springsteen songs. This made a change from the endless Bob Dylan and Eric Clapton replays.
We turned in and I spent most of the night running to the toilet and back.
No comments:
Post a Comment