matriarch
Rotund retiree
- Joined
- May 25, 2003
- Posts
- 22,743
Part 2
The UK AH Ambassador continues.............
It’s Monday, Memorial Day, the weather is once again glorious, blue sky, sunshine and no wind. It’s going to be a scorcher, just right for all the myriad of exotic and intriguing tourists to return home after the holiday weekend. Gay men and lesbians of every size, shape, colour, size, race, age. Out and proud; surprisingly, to me at least, the lesbians are much more out, loud and proud than the gay men – especially the younger ones. The much younger ones. I think I’ve spent the last two days constantly reminding myself to close my jaw and stop staring. But its very hard when they are so…….noticeable. Oh, that life could have been this open to me years ago, how mine would have changed. At least, that’s what I tell myself now.
We have seen families, gay and straight; older straight couples, many of whom are walking round in obvious stunned amazement at the sights and sounds around them. A kaleidescope of humanity right before their eyes – defiantly happy, boisterous, visions that cannot be ignored, will not be ignored.
I digress. As usual.
Yes, today the holiday visitors, which our hosts informed us, are ‘the great unwashed of Boston’ here for the weekend, will pack up and return to their homes, in preparation for a return to their everyday lives tomorrow.
I suspect that some will remain, those that have taken this whole week as holiday. Back in England this day is also a public holiday, originally called Whit Monday, (Whitsun, another name for Pentecost), a traditional religious holiday. In our modern times of non-religious bias, it is now simply know as May Bank Holiday. It is also the first day of the summer half term break for the schools. Whether it is the same over here, I know not.
For the last two days, we have thoroughly enjoyed strolling the streets – as far as is possible in the narrowness of the road and the throng of bodies – people watching, window shopping, even some real shopping. Checking out the many, many eateries; strolling along the near empty beach – a sweeping curve of almost pristine sand, dotted with some of the smoothest pebbles I have ever seen, and a few shells gleaming chalky white on the outside, and an iridescent silver on the inside – Cloudy informed me they are abalone. I bow to her local knowledge, as I’ve never seen them before. So very unlike the cockles, winkles, limpet and whelk shells which litter English beaches.
Behind the beach the curve is lined by a continuous row of houses, restaurants, art galleries, specialist stores selling such things as hammocks and swing chairs; another selling the most magnificent kites I have ever seen; all the buildings made of timber, the beams weathered a comfortable grey from the sea air, and those that stand on pilings - a smaller version of the pier which stretches out into the bay – also weathered by the sea itself which often comes right up the beach to lick at them, and on stormy rough days, pound them mercilessly.
We have wandered through tiny, intriguing shops selling hand made pottery, ethnic clothing, beading, silver jewellery, expensive designer clothing, hats – Cloudy bought one so perfect for her, my turn next, but despite popular conception I have a very small head. I do !! Honest !! - several purchases have been made including a pack of playing cards and a cribbage board. I have so successfully taught Cloudy to play, that she beat me two out of three games!!
Yesterday after strolling the beach, going in and out of so many shops, enjoying a delicious lunch in a terraced restaurant, watching the world go by below us, we returned to the apartment and did the only sensible thing – took a nap, for which we were volubly chastised by Vella when we spoke on the telephone later. I refuse to use her actual words, I’m a lady, and I don’t use language like that.
The evening was one of complete relaxation, once again strolling the street amongst the even more boisterous visitors – perhaps realising their time of manic freedom was almost over, they were squeezing every last second of enjoyment out of their final day.
This time supper consisted of a take-away pizza and two large bottles of coke. After eating, the evening was very pleasant and relaxed, playing cards, occasionally taking a break outside for a smoke, with no stress or pressure to do anything except what we wanted.
[to be continued, yet again]
The UK AH Ambassador continues.............
It’s Monday, Memorial Day, the weather is once again glorious, blue sky, sunshine and no wind. It’s going to be a scorcher, just right for all the myriad of exotic and intriguing tourists to return home after the holiday weekend. Gay men and lesbians of every size, shape, colour, size, race, age. Out and proud; surprisingly, to me at least, the lesbians are much more out, loud and proud than the gay men – especially the younger ones. The much younger ones. I think I’ve spent the last two days constantly reminding myself to close my jaw and stop staring. But its very hard when they are so…….noticeable. Oh, that life could have been this open to me years ago, how mine would have changed. At least, that’s what I tell myself now.
We have seen families, gay and straight; older straight couples, many of whom are walking round in obvious stunned amazement at the sights and sounds around them. A kaleidescope of humanity right before their eyes – defiantly happy, boisterous, visions that cannot be ignored, will not be ignored.
I digress. As usual.
Yes, today the holiday visitors, which our hosts informed us, are ‘the great unwashed of Boston’ here for the weekend, will pack up and return to their homes, in preparation for a return to their everyday lives tomorrow.
I suspect that some will remain, those that have taken this whole week as holiday. Back in England this day is also a public holiday, originally called Whit Monday, (Whitsun, another name for Pentecost), a traditional religious holiday. In our modern times of non-religious bias, it is now simply know as May Bank Holiday. It is also the first day of the summer half term break for the schools. Whether it is the same over here, I know not.
For the last two days, we have thoroughly enjoyed strolling the streets – as far as is possible in the narrowness of the road and the throng of bodies – people watching, window shopping, even some real shopping. Checking out the many, many eateries; strolling along the near empty beach – a sweeping curve of almost pristine sand, dotted with some of the smoothest pebbles I have ever seen, and a few shells gleaming chalky white on the outside, and an iridescent silver on the inside – Cloudy informed me they are abalone. I bow to her local knowledge, as I’ve never seen them before. So very unlike the cockles, winkles, limpet and whelk shells which litter English beaches.
Behind the beach the curve is lined by a continuous row of houses, restaurants, art galleries, specialist stores selling such things as hammocks and swing chairs; another selling the most magnificent kites I have ever seen; all the buildings made of timber, the beams weathered a comfortable grey from the sea air, and those that stand on pilings - a smaller version of the pier which stretches out into the bay – also weathered by the sea itself which often comes right up the beach to lick at them, and on stormy rough days, pound them mercilessly.
We have wandered through tiny, intriguing shops selling hand made pottery, ethnic clothing, beading, silver jewellery, expensive designer clothing, hats – Cloudy bought one so perfect for her, my turn next, but despite popular conception I have a very small head. I do !! Honest !! - several purchases have been made including a pack of playing cards and a cribbage board. I have so successfully taught Cloudy to play, that she beat me two out of three games!!
Yesterday after strolling the beach, going in and out of so many shops, enjoying a delicious lunch in a terraced restaurant, watching the world go by below us, we returned to the apartment and did the only sensible thing – took a nap, for which we were volubly chastised by Vella when we spoke on the telephone later. I refuse to use her actual words, I’m a lady, and I don’t use language like that.
The evening was one of complete relaxation, once again strolling the street amongst the even more boisterous visitors – perhaps realising their time of manic freedom was almost over, they were squeezing every last second of enjoyment out of their final day.
This time supper consisted of a take-away pizza and two large bottles of coke. After eating, the evening was very pleasant and relaxed, playing cards, occasionally taking a break outside for a smoke, with no stress or pressure to do anything except what we wanted.
[to be continued, yet again]
es.
