The 6am beach landscape was a sight for my still focussing eyes. With the sun rising over the North Sea, a calming audio backdrop of lapping waves and invigorating bouquet of sea water afforded a far greater scene and fragrance than the campervan I vacated ten minutes earlier.
Although, when competing with a redolence of stale beer, sweat and flatulence, it’s fair to say that wasn’t hard to improve on my camping vehicle’s aesthetics.
The early morning stench ‘gifts’ from my brother Ian and me. An experience tainted further by our kids snoring. His grunting of such disturbing tone I concluded he was either being tortured in his dream, or was main protagonist in a nightmare plotline including vasectomy by blunt hedge trimmer.
My younger sibling and I had tarried to Beadnell Bay with two buddies, (Darrin and Tim), for a lad’s weekend away. Our mission, which we gladly accepted before the tape destructed after five seconds, was to spend a brio filled odyssey embracing the beauty of this enchanting area.
Our vacation brief also included watching a bit of football and consuming the occasional alcoholic beverage… The latter irrespective of how vehemently Ian tried to resist sampling the booze.
For those under the age of forty, my reference to an exploding tape refers to the old TV version of Mission Impossible. This scenario playing out each week after the team’s mission had been delivered.
Actually, the later movies (starring Tom Cruise) also included an exploding cassette within the plot, consequently, younger readers should ‘get’ my comment without explanation… Well, as long as you’ve seen either the TV or movie versions… If you haven’t, this footnote maybe of some use… Phew, that took some bloody explaining.
To clarify, Darrin has his own campervan, which had many benefits; included within those having greater sleeping capacity. Another boon was it also else avoided exacerbating the disconcerting scent within my van.
Tim slept on the groundsheet under my canopy. Sunday morning’s witnessing of Timothy and our kid waking bleary-eyed from their respective sleeping bags akin to watching a hungover butterfly escaping its cocoon in a David Attenbourgh documentary.
During our venture the four of us embarked upon a wealth of erudite conversations. Amongst the topics we debated the current political discourse in the UK and US, the value of a Stoic lifestyle, and why our Ian went to bed as a caterpillar and woke from his sleeping bag as a butterfly with AA membership… Incidentally, that’s Automobile Association not Alcoholics Anonymous membership. Which, as our kid doesn’t drive, is a tad quirky!
Among the US political debates, I pondered how a Donald Trump incarceration would play out if/when his numerous felonies are punished. My notions not taken from a perspective of how his dipshit cabal in red hats would react… Moreover, problems resultant from prison guards being unable to tell where the Shitkicker King’s orange jail uniform finished, and his tangerine face started.
Although great friends for years, Darrin and Ian have antipode political views. I will not divulge their party preferences; what I will say though is one of them has right wing leanings and the other believes in greater butterfly rights.
Being someone who does not pin his flag to any political mast, my part in these debates was underpinned with unashamed mischief. Tongue-in-cheek contributions designed to inflame any prevailing fractiousness between both parties.
I did, though, bring one advocacy about my thoughts on the human condition. Revealing to my peers that “I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside. Give them a sense of pride to make it easier; Let the children’s laughter remind us how we used to be.”
Yours truly eruditely adding “I decided long ago. Never to walk in anyone’s shadows. If I fail, if I succeed, at least I’ll live as I believe. No matter what they take from me, they can’t take away my dignity.”
Pleased with this insightful contribution, I was somewhat hurt to be accused by the group of plagiarising a Whitney Houston song. In mitigation I argued one man’s plagiarism was another man’s coincidence… My buddies, though, weren’t buying this defence for what was admittedly blatant creative thievery.
Saturday lunchtime saw the four of us watch the Leeds United v Portsmouth football game in an enchanting hostelry called the Craster Arms. With my brother and me both supporting Leeds, their inability to turn the team’s superior possession into a victory leading to continual disgruntled grunts akin to those manifesting during Ian’s earlier slumber.
Although, I took a more pragmatic view towards proceedings on the pitch in the second half. It was serendipitous the pod was bereft of a swear box, as my brother and me unleashed a tirade of frustrated barbs at what was playing out in the first half… Yes, I know; it’s not big and it’s not clever!
Ian and Tim spent part of Saturday evening on the beach with their booze. News of their trip to the seaside manifesting thoughts of a scene in the movie Jaws when the two guys chain a Sunday roast beef to a jetty to catch the predatory shark. And ill thought-out idea which nearly ended with them being consumed as a second course by the Great White.
You may posit my thoughts of our kid would endeavouring to copy such foolishness may seem far-fetched. Trust me though, after a few sherbets his rap sheet includes a wealth of idiosyncratic escapades; some not too far removed in recklessness.
Sunday morning’s reveille also saw me rise at 6am. The day began with me enjoying a Northumberland sunrise over the North Sea. As Ian and Tim slept, my brother adorning what looked like a shark tooth necklace, and with Darrin in his van, I enjoyed an invigorating morning coffee.
A few hours later, after packing away our equipment and bidding each other farewell, we partook in a closing ceremony in which we were piped to our vehicles by our kid. God only knows where he found the bagpipes… Or, indeed, when he learned to play them!
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