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The Boys Of Summer: More Tales From The Red Sea
Camp Sunshine beach bar has its music on a loop – a loop which perhaps should be a little longer. It’s a good job I have my headphones, given that we can hear the music from both house and beach spot and the inoffensive MOTR run of Santana, Adele, Richard Marx etc is at a certain point rudely interrupted by Tom Jones’ “Delilah”. We feel a pang of guilt laying here soaking up the sun while poor Tom is about to be arrested for stabbing his Mrs to death. We think we might know where we’re going wrong with the all-inclusive thing. I remember chatting in a hotel bar in…
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Legal Aliens: Englishmen In Resort
Day 3 at Camp Sunshine (not its real name) brings an increase in the sea breeze and the nations’ flags between the restaurant and the beach are flapping furiously – though there’s not a Union Jack or a St Georges anywhere to be seen in the collection. Colours are to the fore: the deep brown suntans of those Germans presumably nearing the end of their stay clashing with the frighteningly red raw faces and shoulders of the newcomers who’ve done too much sun too soon. They must be suffering. There’s also the sky blue – not the sea or the sky but the shiny sky blue of our wrist bands…
