I am a watcher of people on the beach.
They are far more interesting than a cheap novel.
The Prof and I are ensconced under our usual canopy. To our right are another gay couple. One older and suffering ill health, the other younger and fitter. I noticed that the younger man removed the trainers and socks of the elder when they arrived today.
In front of us is a man with his mother.
They rarely speak. She reads. He eyes up the passing talent.
Yesterday five statuesque german girls with exactly the same figures but different faces sat nearby preening themselves all day. I was exhausted watching them. They have not turned up today, as yet.
To our right is an arty looking French family of five sat quietly brooding under their canopy.
Not one has smiled all day.
They had melon for lunch.
The beach hawkers filled the gaps by flashing their beach throws at anyone that vaguely looked interested, like Peacocks fluttering their tails at sitting peahens.They are mostly poor North Africans who look over dressed in the sun.
The hours pass, and we all, I am sure, feel more and more relaxed as the magnificent Sitges Church chimes away the hours throughout the day.