Stings of outrageous jellyfish...

Stings of outrageous jellyfish…

The tension, the stress… We did something which we both always enjoyed…we went to the beach. Together. Motoring along in the water, arms gripping my body board I am lost in wonder at how the sea and sky are paling gently. Times and tides move on, and summer days and summer years are gone before you know it.

A frond of seaweed slithers round my legs. Suddenly I’m scalded.  I’ve been stung. I make for shore as quickly as possible and hobble up to the Sun Worshipper asleep on his sun lounger. “I’ve been stung by a Portuguese man-of-war” I whimper as I dance around the place splashing Ballygowan Sparkling over my thighs. “You haven’t been stung, don’t be ridiculous” he narks. Then he notices the puffy weals snaking like whip marks round my legs. “Oh” he says. Why does he always contradict me? Surely you know whether you have been stung or not? This attitude of immediate denial of anything I say annoys the hell out of me. My legs are on fire. Let’s go. I might need hospital treatment.

Half an hour later the cream the Pharmacy sold me seems to be working. Maybe I won’t need to go to A & E after all. I’d look a funny sight there anyway, what with the sand and the sunblock caked onto me like stucco.  We drive in silence. I am not speaking to the driver. Anyone who says to a suffering person “Sympathy my arse” does not deserve to be spoken to.

He pulls into the car park of the pub. I cannot object as I am not speaking to him. Otherwise of course I would be going home.  I sit at the bar having a brandy to counteract the shock to my system and explaining my sanded/sun creamed/antihistamine - lotioned appearance to anyone who asks, and they are many. The Beer Buddha ensconced in the Corner-beside-the-television decides to educate me; apparently the relief of jellyfish stings entails the application of half a cut tomato to the affected parts. “Why didn’t you just rub half a tomato on?” he loudly demands. “It’s acidic so it counteracts the acidity”. Well pardon me for being stupid, I must remember to pack tomatoes and a knife with the body board in future. The fact that I would have looked even more bizarre covered in tomato pips doesn’t strike me till later. Then I can’t stop laughing. Life is mad. My life is officially getting madder by the day.