Monday, 23 April 2007

I Scream, You Scream

Back to reality after our seaside idyll – with manky hairbrush and underwear well hidden in the bottom of my bag.
As always, the beaches of South Wales did not disappoint. There was only one slightly tense moment when my luminous blue-white legs emerged from their protective covering, causing bronzed locals to avert their eyes in embarrassment, and hiss urgently at their children not to stare at the poor lady. The sea at this time of year is cold, very cold, but being British it was only natural that we should want to submerge our pasty bodies in it. Of course, the kids were all decked out in several inches of state-of-the-art neoprene, so not only did they look stylish, but they were also relatively inured to the arctic temperatures. I was wearing a baggy lycra swimsuit, which might as well have been knitted, for all the thermal protection it gave me. It took me ten minutes of girly squealing to achieve full body immersion, and I would say that it was worth ten weeks of concerted pelvic-floor exercises. Unfortunately though, it was some time before that pinched, concentrated stare of the ‘secret pelvic-floor clencher’ began to dissipate.
After we had all leapt about like salmon for half an hour, I finally persuaded the kids to get out by bribing them, bizarrely, with an ice cream – although chicken soup and hot sweet tea might have been more appropriate in the circumstances.
In the same way that banging your head against a wall feels great when you finally stop (or so I’m hoping, with this child-rearing lark), when I finally emerged from the icy depths, looking more Honey Monster than Honey Ryder, my skin felt like it was burning in the comparative heat of the air. A brisk rub down with a sand-encrusted towel was a more effective exfoliator than any salon treatment, and totally painless at the time, due to the anaesthetic effects of the Atlantic. I’m sure it won’t be too long before the skin on my upper arms heals properly.

Although I was disappointed that I didn’t even get close to trying any of the Welsh Cariad wine, I am very excited by the prospect of drinking this glass of Barramundi Semillon Chardonnay as recommended by The Grocer (£4.79 Ocado, or go to The Grocer’s shop!).
It tastes of melon and citrus fruit, and makes me long to dabble my toes in tropical waters.
I seem to remember that about ten years ago, this wine used to be sold in a brightly labelled bottle. If so, it has had something of a sophisticated make-over (I could do with one of those myself), but the label still suggests warm, sandy, Australian beaches.
Maybe Cariad wines could do a similar tie-in with the beaches of South Wales - the wine label could include pictures of sand, surf, baggy lycra and mottled blue legs.


Pig in the Kitchen said...

God, you have young children AND you went in the Atlantic...very brave. Where was your hip flask, when you needed it? Planning, Drunk Mummy, planning is the key to this child-rearing lark - always make sure you have easy access to warming alcohol. Hope you have warmed up!

dulwichmum said...

Dear Drunk Mummy,

You haven't mentioned the horribel Welsh Cakes, or stone bakes or whatever it is they call them. Please tell me you don't actually like their strangely puritanical confectionary? No chocolate, cream or caramel in sight - vile!


mutterings and meanderings said...

Hee hee!

Did you see 'the race to size double zero' on Channel 4 last night? One of the guinea pigs plunged herself into freezing water in order to make her metabolism burn off the calories faster.

drunkmummy said...

PITK - the hip flask would have been an excellent idea, although I doubt the baggy, decomposed lycra would have held it in place.

Dulwich Mum - sad to say, but I am a fully paid up member of the Welsh Food Appreciation Society. Not only do I eat Welshcakes, but I scoff that green seaweed slime known as lavabread (not that there's anything bread-like about it at all). I am a bit of a sucker for all that 'local food' mularkey.

M&M - I knew there had to be a reason for doing it! When I am pictured on the cover of Hello magazine with Mischa and Nicole, I will reveal my 'South Wales Silhouette Secret.'

rilly super said...

drunkmummy dear, lavabread is for use as a face pack only, unless you are a mermaid. No wonder you are looking so pale.

Pig in the Kitchen said...

I have a spare tin of lavabread in the cupboard, my mother-in-law gave it to me. I should send it round to you Drunk Mummy, it sounds so revolting I can't bring myself to open it. I don't think it will be on my blog any time soon.

debio said...

I remember flying over the Forest of Dean - solo - when hours building for my PPL(H).

My instructor advised that, in the event of an emergency landing, 'don't mention the bear'.

Long story, but - do they still eat their young here?

debio said...

Just a thought - Husband of Debio (Land of Sand) here, re your wine tips, I recomend a 1 hr trip accompanied by 10,000 lunatic drivers to our "Hole In The wall" (actually masquerading as an Indian staffed off licence) there you will find all manner of "corked" fine wines at half UK prices. Due to intense heat and danger of trip I reccomend a vast purchase with particular attention to french plonc "Cuvee de Richard" AKA Shieks Special (he owns the place !) This is light and relatively tasteless but well suited to the heat and humidity. Next that short one hour dash home, taking care to avoid totally dry areas where wino's go to gaol and ladies must cover their arms...
Still, It adds to the fun of the party.... ps make sure your guests have liquor licences or else...

Drunk Mummy said...

Pig and Rilly - I don't even know why I'm bothering to say this, should try it, it tastes of the sea. You have to just ignore the texture, which I admit is really vile.

Hi debio and Husband!
It sounds like your experiences would be enough to turn anyone to drink - if they had the willpower. I hope you party like demons on your visits back to the UK.