Giggity-giggity-goo-ski.

Today, I had the pleasure of getting sun stroke on a Polish beach. The beach, I might add, looks like St Kilda, but boy are they proud of it. Salmonella aside, I skipped over to the gentle waves with the hungry eyes of an Australian in a landlocked country. Three seconds later, I retreated to the blanket of refuge, having lost all feeling in my toes. So, what's a girl to do but read sweeping epics that make her cry and be pleased with her new navy blue polkadot one-piece?



I now look like a smoked eel.



Anyway, I'm in hiding now- but not because I look like a smoked eel. I'm in hiding because I just spent ten hours with this person:









I didn't quite peg him from the start. It was a slow process of elimination- crossing out every arrogant, guffawing, sweaty lothario I had ever shared a tram-ride with. I didn't understand where this feeling of familiarity was coming from. I mean, I didn't really know that many people that unabashedly scanned the beach for flopped-out titties, and who then turned to their party and suggestively wiggled their eyebrows.


Then there was the inane rambling, the nervous jerks, the toothy grins this person would thrust into your line of sight so that you would vigorously nod and pretend you really cared about the time they weren't forty and bald.


Then, in an explosive realisation (cold, white shock) I came to understand that I was sharing an armrest wth Quagmire. So I quietly retreated, and haven't been seen since.


*

Until tomorrow, my friends. Because tomorrow, our Georgie Pie comes to town.