At the weekend we visited Cottesloe beach, which is famous for surfing, swimming, snorkeling and amazing sunsets. The beach was packed – people were basking in the blazing sun and playing in the crashing waves. The water looked extremely inviting in the 30 degree heat until Dan kindly pointed out that the helicopter hovering above us was probably on shark patrol. We strolled, or rather ‘hauled’ all of our stuff along , to a quieter area of the beach so we could set up camp.
Once we had sorted ourselves out, retrieved and secured the tent shelter and umbrella that had been blown away by the wind, we made sandcastles. Oshi sandcastles. Poor lad, he had forgotten how much he had enjoyed playing with sand on our Hungary holiday when he was four months old. On arriving in Oz and visiting a playground, there were screams of terror – the parks here use sand rather than tarmac base. Osh was terrified to touch the stuff and refused to put his feet on the ground! Just a few trips to the beach later and he seems to regard it as a delicious delicacy!
After sandcastles, Dan took Osh for a dip in the sea and I bravely followed suit – it was just too tempting to resist. Now, everyone loves to channel their inner beach goddess as they amble to the shoreline and I was no different. It was the warmest ocean we’d ever set foot in – the coldest being the Pacific where we had lugged our wetsuits all the way to Canada only to stay in the water for less than a minute!
So there we were frolicking in the waves, splashing around and being all jovial when I got hit by a huge one. Maybe it wasn’t that big a wave. Maybe I was just unstable on my feet, as Dan seamlessly bobbed over it with Osh in his arms. Me? I was beached by the force of it – boobs out, legs flailing, lost sunglasses and sporting a drenched rat look. Epic fail on the ‘bond girl goal’ front.
But hey, at least I wasn’t attacked by a shark!
And I got authentic wavy beach hair.
Plus these helped to make up for the humiliation…