Belly flop

Woke this morning to the sound of squirrels tap dancing on the caravan. Checked my watch and it was 6.30 French time, still the middle of the night back home in the UK. I suppose the furry nut lovers had something to celebrate as it was a glorious morning, the first sight of sunshine in the three days we have been here. I didn't realise the French did overcast and downpours in such dramatic style, perhaps they have taken lessons from us up in Lancashire. Just yesterday a black cloud swept and wept over us in a matter of minutes, thankfully we found a beachfront cafe and whiled away the afternoon playing dominoes and drinking expensive espressos. Anyway after a carb loaded breakfast we trooped down to the pool, me in the skimpiest of swimming trunks, plastic clogs and my favourite Queen t-shirt (limited edition 'It's a Kind of Magic', if you must know). At 10am the queue was already forming and when the gate opened everyone dived for a sun lounger. Thankfully we bagged three but my daughter's boyfriend was sent out to change as he had insisted on wearing his board shorts. The lifeguard nearly ordered me on my way as well, as when I took my t-shirt off (and hid it under my towel, didn't want anyone nicking it) my large tummy was hanging down over my speedos giving me the appearance of being naked. It was clear that the lifeguard and his cohorts were stifling their laughter at my rather unflattering swimwear but hey they enforce it and who am I to argue? In fact I didn't utter a word, I simply belly flopped into the deep end, splashing the lot of them. C'est la vie!