Oh fuck yeah! I love the sunshine. Finally the gloom of the long winter has lifted, and we have a taste of summer. Both literally and in our moods.
Well, this weather is far too nice to be wasted slaving away at work, so I called in a few favours, did a few shady deals, sorted out some geezers with brown envelopes filled with cash, slipped some back-handers on the sly, and used my contacts to ensure that my day would be spent on the beach sipping cocktails and topping up my naturally beige complexion.
Yes, I did a sicky.
I got the towels and sandwiches packed, and the geisha girls went chattering excitedly into the changing rooms to slip into their beachwear. Meanwhile Sandy sat moodily in the corner rolling joints, and Handy and his “friend” chattered at the table excitedly doing their nails and drinking Babycham, leaving us to take care of all the preparations. From snatches of overheard conversation I gathered they were talking about their night out tonight, maybe heading up to the nudist beach this afternoon, and how the Chancellor didn’t raise tax on lubricants in the budget this year. Nothing about snatches though.
Luckily the Muck FM studios and mansion are located just a couple of hundred metres from the water’s edge, so we were on the beach in no time at all. I laid out the towels and unpacked the drinks and nibbles. I looked up to find the rest of the crew in their beachwear, and the sight that greeted me ranged from highly erotic to highly repulsive.
Fifi, Mandy and Stella were in their skimpy black bikinis, and stretched out on the loungers with cocktails in their hands (not a euphemism, which for them is a rare thing). Well, Fifi was only in her bikini bottoms- the top didn’t seem to be packed in the first place, and she was obviously revelling in the envious glances and lecherous stares from the men on the beach, and the hate filled daggers from the women. What a slut she is. God I love her.
Meanwhile, just the other side of them, Handy and his friend had stripped off and were in the tightest pairs of Speedos I have ever seen. I may be wrong, but now I come to think of it, a pair of socks was missing from my drawer this morning, and by the looks of it was now stuffed down the lads’ swimming trunks. Dear God, sometimes I ask myself why I put up with that boy. He is a liability and a huge embarrassment to me. And if that wasn’t enough, they had obviously bought enough fake tan to service the whole of the England team’s WAGs, and were more orange than Robert Kilroy-Silk if he had eaten nothing but carrots for a year. The look was completed by oversized sunglasses, pouting lips and Jackie Collins’ novels in their hands.
Sandy on the other hand (get it?) refused to strip off at all, and was sitting on a deckchair in his obligatory outfit of phat trainers, dripping bling and Burberry baseball cap, with a huge spliff dangling out of the side of his mouth and a can of Special Brew in his hand. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of childhood those boys had had, and quickly realised that it’s probably best not to know.
Myself and Mrs Muck slapped on the sun cream and settled back on our loungers, headphones on, lapping up the sunshine and listening to trance so beautiful, you would be happy that if you died there and then and it was the last thing you ever heard. I must have dozed off, because when I opened my eyes, Handy and his friend were gone. Sandy informed me that they had headed off to the nudist beach and not to expect them back anytime soon. Apparently they had forgotten some vital equipment for their excursion, and nauseatingly this explained the disappearance of two tubes of Nivea and the polythene bags that the sandwiches were packed in.
The atmosphere noticeably lifted once they were gone, and Sandy seemed to lighten up in particular. I don’t think he gets on too well with his brother, and I’m sure I even saw him smile as he flirted with the geisha girls. I headed down to the sea for a dip with Fifi, and although it was too cold to stay in long, it gave us a chance for a quick underwater fondle, while Mrs Muck had gone to get the ice creams. I’ll be honest though, the water was so cold that there really wasn’t much for her to fondle…
The rest of the day was spent lazing around, drinking, eating, and chilling out. Sandy got a bit rowdy later on, after his ninth Special Brew, and I know I should really head down the police station to bail him out, but all the coppers know him well, and he’s on first name terms with most of them. Once he’d been led away, leaving just me and the girls here, the atmosphere improved even more. Well, what do you expect? I was left with four beautiful girls draped over me (well, a slight exaggeration, but why spoil the image?) while the sun beat down, and the trance played on. This is the life… Bring on the summer- whack and bring on the summer!