On Sunday, instead of swimming towards Croatia, I floated towards the Isle of Wight, before swimming back towards a row of green beach huts.
Indecisive young girls wearing bikinis stood in a queue, wearing seaweed as jewellery, slimey brown fronds tied around their skinny wrists. They were unable to decide which ice-cream they wanted, unable to decide whether it was 15% orange juice they wanted to drip onto the sand or whether they should just giggle at the ice-cream seller and then stand to one side.
Indecisive young girls wearing bikinis stood in a queue, wearing seaweed as jewellery, slimey brown fronds tied around their skinny wrists. They were unable to decide which ice-cream they wanted, unable to decide whether it was 15% orange juice they wanted to drip onto the sand or whether they should just giggle at the ice-cream seller and then stand to one side.
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