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Our first night on holiday was all exciting and new. We drank newly purchased cider and ate newly bought (and newly cooked) pizza in the caravan, which wasn’t exactly new per se, but new to us.
When the alcohol lightened our synapses enough, the five of us took to exploring the caravan park. This of course means that we found the members-only lounge and settled there; reading newspapers, drinking coffee and playing free pool (In Poole! – a joke that never grew old). Whilst we have the bodies of 21 year olds, we’re old people at heart, and enjoyed bemoaning the state of The Daily Mail and the quality of machine hot chocolate.
Closing time soon beckoned though, and we were forced back out into the embracing cold of an English summer night. Except that it wasn’t summer yet and it wasn’t all that cold, but who lets truth get in the way of a good story.
With a quick alcohol stop, our continued exploration gave fruit to a beach. The route there was simple enough, and bares remembering. We passed some caravans, crossed a field, went down a single file path, round some boating equipment and found ourselves on a small beach. Remember that.
The moon was out, bold and bright, and it cast a shimmering light on the surface of the sea. The image isn’t unique, and I’m sure it won’t be the last moon I see reflected on the water, but it was that moment that I truly felt on holiday. I have cider at home, and I have pool at home and I unfortunately have The Daily Mail at home. What I don’t have is a beach and a sea for the moon to reflect on. This was new. This was holiday.
We sat and we chatted and we drank and we laughed, and at some point the group split. Over on the far end of the beach were Faye, Megan and Nixon; and remaining in the original patch there was Emma and myself. There was the moon too, and the reflection, and the soft sound of the waves crashing against the sand. And Emma. So I kissed her, because that’s what you do when there’s a moon and a beach and a girl. It’s almost a law.
This wasn’t the first time that I’d kissed her; that was ten years ago, on the field at school. It was awkward and new and surrounded by other children who thought it oh so entertaining that a boy and a girl would be kissing. This kiss was a bit more skilled (I emphasize the ‘bit’) and more relaxed. It was also secret and in the dark. Sort of.
You see, our logic was that if we couldn’t see the other three, they couldn’t see us. We listened as we kissed though, in the knowledge that if our covers were blown we’d hear about it. It’d be scandal, surely. There would be a fuss. We were wrong on all counts.
We were very visible, because we were sat in the light of a caravan. So they did see our ‘secret’ kiss. They weren’t making a fuss because they weren’t there.
I’d like to tell you that it didn’t take us long to realize that we’d been left, but the truth is I do not know how long we sat kissing, or at what point the three of them chose to abandon us to ourselves. We did twig eventually, and hand-in-hand (and leaving our cans behind us) we journeyed back to the caravan.
Now, do you remember the route we took to get to the beach? Because the problem that we were suddenly faced with was that we didn’t have a narrator to let us know we needed to remember how we got to where we were.
We walked past the boating equipment and through the single file path and across the field; that bit we remembered. But caravans look exactly the same in the dark. Just block after block of white with windows with numbers that rose or dropped in what seemed like a random pattern.
The morning went on and we wandered. Occasionally we kissed more because it made the fact that we were lost a bit more entertaining. We made phone calls and were guided down roads that I forgot then, let alone now. Eventually, through the use of signs and maps, we found ourselves back at our base caravan. There wasn’t a home-warming party, because we’d taken so long to get home that everyone had retired to bed.
The next morning I discovered sand in my shoes, sand in my hoodie (which Emma had been wearing) and sand in my mouth; a rather odd reminder that the holiday in Poole had now officially begun.
When the alcohol lightened our synapses enough, the five of us took to exploring the caravan park. This of course means that we found the members-only lounge and settled there; reading newspapers, drinking coffee and playing free pool (In Poole! – a joke that never grew old). Whilst we have the bodies of 21 year olds, we’re old people at heart, and enjoyed bemoaning the state of The Daily Mail and the quality of machine hot chocolate.
Closing time soon beckoned though, and we were forced back out into the embracing cold of an English summer night. Except that it wasn’t summer yet and it wasn’t all that cold, but who lets truth get in the way of a good story.
With a quick alcohol stop, our continued exploration gave fruit to a beach. The route there was simple enough, and bares remembering. We passed some caravans, crossed a field, went down a single file path, round some boating equipment and found ourselves on a small beach. Remember that.
The moon was out, bold and bright, and it cast a shimmering light on the surface of the sea. The image isn’t unique, and I’m sure it won’t be the last moon I see reflected on the water, but it was that moment that I truly felt on holiday. I have cider at home, and I have pool at home and I unfortunately have The Daily Mail at home. What I don’t have is a beach and a sea for the moon to reflect on. This was new. This was holiday.
We sat and we chatted and we drank and we laughed, and at some point the group split. Over on the far end of the beach were Faye, Megan and Nixon; and remaining in the original patch there was Emma and myself. There was the moon too, and the reflection, and the soft sound of the waves crashing against the sand. And Emma. So I kissed her, because that’s what you do when there’s a moon and a beach and a girl. It’s almost a law.
This wasn’t the first time that I’d kissed her; that was ten years ago, on the field at school. It was awkward and new and surrounded by other children who thought it oh so entertaining that a boy and a girl would be kissing. This kiss was a bit more skilled (I emphasize the ‘bit’) and more relaxed. It was also secret and in the dark. Sort of.
You see, our logic was that if we couldn’t see the other three, they couldn’t see us. We listened as we kissed though, in the knowledge that if our covers were blown we’d hear about it. It’d be scandal, surely. There would be a fuss. We were wrong on all counts.
We were very visible, because we were sat in the light of a caravan. So they did see our ‘secret’ kiss. They weren’t making a fuss because they weren’t there.
I’d like to tell you that it didn’t take us long to realize that we’d been left, but the truth is I do not know how long we sat kissing, or at what point the three of them chose to abandon us to ourselves. We did twig eventually, and hand-in-hand (and leaving our cans behind us) we journeyed back to the caravan.
Now, do you remember the route we took to get to the beach? Because the problem that we were suddenly faced with was that we didn’t have a narrator to let us know we needed to remember how we got to where we were.
We walked past the boating equipment and through the single file path and across the field; that bit we remembered. But caravans look exactly the same in the dark. Just block after block of white with windows with numbers that rose or dropped in what seemed like a random pattern.
The morning went on and we wandered. Occasionally we kissed more because it made the fact that we were lost a bit more entertaining. We made phone calls and were guided down roads that I forgot then, let alone now. Eventually, through the use of signs and maps, we found ourselves back at our base caravan. There wasn’t a home-warming party, because we’d taken so long to get home that everyone had retired to bed.
The next morning I discovered sand in my shoes, sand in my hoodie (which Emma had been wearing) and sand in my mouth; a rather odd reminder that the holiday in Poole had now officially begun.
:D
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