'Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside/Oh, I do like to be beside the seeeeeaaaaaa!' is the tune I was singing as I strolled along the esplanade breathing in salt air, and smelling the kelp, and listening to the strangulated call of the seagulls. We had a most enjoyable time, except when my husband caught a fish that was hijacked by a passing pelican. That pelican had its routine down to a fine art. It paddled nonchalantly, and the moment an excited angler called, 'Got one!', it was zeroing in like a torpedoed death charge, and gobbling the bream, leaving the said angler in a state of abject chagrin. We sat on the bank, and listened to the sounds of the families fishing in little groups around us. Grandfathers were showing the grandbabies how to bait a hook. Dads were showing their sons the best technique to flick the rod and cast that line. My 12yo tried, and hooked me (I was sitting a few feet away reading a book - I don't fish myself, but just like sitting with my family while they do). On the wharf, about five metres away, was a family also fishing. That pelican made off with a fish caught by the son of the family, a fine-looking lad of about fourteen. Then the lad did something I would never have dreamt of doing at that age: he threw a temper-tantrum of the kind normally confined to the species known as Super Model (sub genus Naomi Campbell). 'Fucking pelican! Took my fucking fish! Fucking pelican! I'll kill that fucking pelican!' Words to that effect, anyway. The words that rang most strident were 'fucking' and 'pelican'. His thong-clad feet stamped and stomped on the wharf. His parents just chuckled and tried to soothe their little monster. Call me old fashioned, but I would NEVER have behaved like that in public over an animal just doing what it does naturally, at that age. I don't think I'd do it now. If I had thrown a wobbly like that, my mother would have kicked my arse in. I took my 12yo aside and told him that if he caught a fish that ended up being the pelican's booty, and if he behaved like that boy was behaving in a fit of pique, I would pick him up and bodily throw him into the water.
So it was with sadness this morning that I ate my bowl of Cocopops in our rented cabin, knowing we were finishing up our little respite. Yes, Cocopops. I never buy the things - obviously their nutritional value is non-existent - but this is how you know you're on holiday: eating a sugary, chocolatey mess of a morning. My husband and 12yo were off fishing, so it was just Master 9 and me. We looked at breakfast television and saw there has been yet another parody of that idiotic 'Wrecking Ball' song by Miley Cyrus (of the stingray-like tongue). My son watches a myriad of parodies of this on You Tube. What he saw this morning will have turned him off for life, like Alex in 'A Clockwork Orange' undergoing visual aversion therapy. The parodist was none other than porn actor Ron Jeremy. If anybody has ever seen Ron Jeremy, then you will know what I am getting at. Ron in skimpy smalls, and eventually topless on a wrecking ball, is just one of the most frightful things I have ever seen, and you can imagine how my 9yo reacted. What he did was shriek and clap his hand over his eyes. 'Eeeuuuw, gross!' he cried. I have never worked through any of Ron Jeremy's oeuvre. Porn doesn't worry me, but for the love of God, WHY would anybody want to watch Ron Jeremy fucking? The guy is the missing link! I suspect the reason he went into porn was the only way he could score a root, such is his lack of appeal. I'm still shuddering at the thought of what we saw this morning. I think my son is okay; he hasn't said anything since, but maybe he has blotted it out and will soon display symptoms of PTSD. My poor baby. As a parent, you try to protect your kids as much as you can, but things that have been seen cannot be unseen.
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