The rain had stopped and the sun had returned. Just in case those of you back in Blighty were starting to feel momentarily smug. We took some of the hotel's rickety mountain bikes up to the beach which is about a mile up a dusty, bumpy track. It was a very invigorating trip and a bit different than my usual cycle down to Hammersmith to go to the gym and Marks and Spencers. Friendly locals greeted us with a smile and a "jambo". I splashed through a big puddle. It was fun.
I then spent most of the afternoon in a hammock reading "Black Swan Green" by David Mitchell. It's been a good read so far, though maybe pushing the early 80s nostaligia a little bit too far. But it's got the concerns of the early teen off to a tea - especially good on status. The way that all the boys keep worrying about being perceived as gay reminded me of the day when Kevin Adams came into school (and we were probably only about 11 at this time) and said, "I'm a homo!" Everyone gasped at this outrageous admission. Adams was one of the hardest kids in our year. This could destroy him. "Yes I am," he proudly declared, "
homo sapiens". It was genius. He had confounded us all and confirmed his own non-gay alpha male status. I liked Kevin Adams a lot. He was one of the bad lads, but was also really clever. These two things didn't really go hand in hand and I think he allowed his cleverness to fall by the wayside in order to upkeep his badness efficiently - doing well in exams would not impress Paul "Tom" Cambridge (though maybe he's a bad example as he had quite a sweet side too). I believe it was Kevin Adams who came up with the expression, "Cheg on!", which those of you familiar with my recorded work might recognise. I may be wrong. But it was something that was created in Fairlands Middle School and which I hope to eventually get into the Oxford English Dictionary (apparently I am already quoted in there in the definition for "scrote" which comes up in "Talking Cock" - again though I believe in something that one of the surveyed fellas wrote rather than my own work, but I get the credit. The same thievery will be true if Cheg ever makes it through my own work). Anyway good on you Kevin Adams for sterling homo/homo work back in the late seventies.
We cycled back to the hotel along the beach as the sun set. It was most enjoyable and I bombed along as fast as the slightly creaky bike would allow me. I decided to see what it would be like cycling in the sea and crashed through the shallow waves for no more than thirty seconds. When I emerged the wheels and chain and pedals were clogged with sea-weed. There was tons of it, looking like some organic version of pogs (or whatever those wheel things were called) or that the bike belonged to Neptune himself or an aquatic version of Fred Flintstone. I tried to clean it off a couple of times, but there was just so much of it. The bike still worked. The man at the hotel stopped me from trying to clean the last of it off. I suspect he's had this happen before from idiots like me who don't know that you shouldn't cycle in the sea. But it did make the bike look strangely beautiful.
Later we went for a treatment in the hotel's spa. I've been here most nights and had a massage as we got some free ones with the package we booked. I am coming to like massages after some early sucpicion, but am still confused about whether I should be finding the experience erotic or not. Well I am not confused. I know it isn't meant to be (
unless you're at massage parlours like the one on the Goldhawk Road), but my penis occasionally becomes confused. And who can blame him? Usually if a pretty young woman is massaging oil into my inner thighs it is time for him to prepare himself. Luckily he is learning. Through bitter experience. And the threat of legal action.
Today though I was having a Thai wrap and scrub- just for the sake of variety really. I didn't enjoy it much. Partly because the scrub was very painful on my sunburn (and I couldn't complain. I didn't want to look like a homo - you know even if I was in a spa) and partly because it then involved being smeared with vegetables and wrapped up in some plastic sheet. I seemed to have diced carrots and yoghurt all over me and when I was left for fifteen minutes to relax in the concoction I felt like I was in a bin bag full of sick. Was this my punishment for possibly having enjoyed the other treatments in an inappropriate manner? Was the young Thai lady who did this to me outside the room pissing herself laughing? "There's a fat man in there all covered in food, wrapped up in a polythene sheet - it's 1000 shillings to have a look!" In a continent with so many starving people is it right to be lying on a table covered in food?
Finally I had to shower and get all the gunk off. It took ages. In all the treatments I have had to wear little black pants that are kind of made out of the same material as tights - it makes my penis look like it's about to commit a bank robbery and doesn't want to be identified, but as I finished the shower I was told to remove my underwear as well before the body lotion could be applied. Was the stay at the hotel about to end on a high note for me? Was it in fact
that kind of massage parlour?
Seemingly not, although the girl did accidentally (on purpose) brush her fingers against one of my Macsquirter twins, not once bu twice. I'll take that. It's not much, but I am nearly 40 and this is as good as it gets for me now.
Apart from that crumb of comfort though the whole treatment was one of the most unpleasant things I have endured for a long time, probably second only to the time
the hot and cold stone massage man accidentally on purpose touched my little fella a couple of times. Ironically inappropriate touching was the only good part of the massage today. Strange that.
I am still no Jonathan Ames though.
