Un sun kissed

I’m back from Frenchie’s.

Factor 30 and shaded beach time was the plan. Already (fake) tanned, new swimsuit with spectacular bust control, honestly, it’s a revelation, and pretty much two stone lighter than last summer. I was going to be beach fabulous.

Or not.

The main undoing of my sophisticated beach plan was that the sun-bed ladies didn’t have any parasols, or, couldn’t be arsed to go get one from wherever they store them. I bear no ill will, it was very hot and I doubt that I would have put myself out either. A consequence of this ‘no fucks to give’ school of customer service was that I spent the day under hats, clothes, wraps and towels. On a beach where mixed levels of gorgeousness, including old dogs and boiling chickens lounge happily side by side, my beach behaviour was oddly unique. I looked ridiculous but on the up side I didn’t get a T tan.

Frenchie who is always brown and stretches out in full sun, luxuriously soaking up those rays, developed lighter shade laughter crinkles due to having to make chit chat with a lumpy heap of textiles. I wonder that she considers spending beach time with me but I guess I make her look good….or at least less mad.