Better than having a warm beer on a cold day

“What are you doing out here, you’re halfway to France?”

I looked at my friend John and shook my head. “First of all, I’m not half way to France, I’m only about half a mile off the beach and secondly, didn’t you read the article today in the local rag?”

“What article and what local rag?” I felt my friend had decided to continue his backwards slide from quasi adulthood back to his infancy, where he scolded everyone who tried to get him to talk. His parents had threatened to throw him out of the house at age 5 because he wouldn’t stop stealing his father’s cigarettes. But then what was worse, was lighting them with a gold-plated Ronson lighter that was his grandfather’s during World War One, when it failed to stop a German bullet and ended his life. In all the thirty odd years I’ve never known John to have a real job. And that’s no lie. His logic was simple. He had not asked to be born and therefore it wasn’t up to him to earn a living. It was up to his parents while they were alive to pay him, and then after that the State. But taking part in his own future wasn’t of any interest to him.

“You know, the Sun Light Times and the article about shark attacks.” A faint shadow of recognition briefly crossed his face until he reverted to his usual, ‘I’m clueless look.’

“Well, if I remember the article, it said something about shark attacks happening within ten feet from the beach.”

“But there’s more,” I added as he shaded his eyes and looked out over the horizon noting an oil tanker heading our way.

‘I wonder if there are any rules to the sea,’ he thought to himself but then after shrugging his shoulders he looked down at me. All this time I had been treading water which was beginning to get tiring while he was in his father’s 25 foot yacht, which I’m sure his father didn’t know he had, bobbing gently on the waves of the bay.

“But there was more,” I added, “the reason most shark attacks occur within 10 feet of the beach is because that’s where the people are.”

John for a brief second looked as if he understood what I had said, but he hadn’t. His answer to my statement was to rev up the engine of the yacht, spin the wheel and departing the area, leaving me to tread water. He stopped though before he was too far and I thought he was going to ask me if I wanted a ride back to the beach, but instead he shouted out, “good luck! I guess treading water for the rest of your life beats having a warm beer on a cold day.” I put my middle finger up at him and in less time than it took me to scream at him, he was gone.

Once the giant waves caused by his erratic yacht manoeuvring skills had subsided, and I no longer had to take great gulps of salty water, I wondered what my next move was going to be.

I was actually further out at sea than I had expected to be, but just as I was considering hailing the giant oil tanker which was getting closer and closer to me, I could see in the distance a yacht which looked very much like John’s barrelling down towards me. ‘So, let me get this straight,’ I thought to myself, ‘from behind I have a one million ton oil tanker heading straight for my head, and in front of me a maniac in a yacht also aiming for my head.’

“How did I get here?” I asked myself in a moment of sheer panic.

Well, it began a few days ago when John and I came down to Cornwall for a well deserved holiday. I, a week away from my job as a Chartered Accountant and John, from his third floor bedroom in his parent’s home. Yes, because of his warped logic he still lived at home.

Once we arrived at Falmouth, the first thing John did after he threw his well worn suitcase, a remnant from the First World War carried into the trenches by his grandfather at the Battle of the Somme, was to run into the bathroom and after a few minutes there, he reappeared in better shape. Upon opening the door, he asked if I wanted to go and sunbathe. I thought that was the reason we went down there.

And so, off we went to beach with our lounge chairs under our arms. Let me re characterise that. I carried my lounge chair under my arm while John dragged his along the ground, including along the marble floor of the reception area of the Saint Regis to the utter dismay, not only of the hotel staff but also some of the guests, who had paid extra just to say they had stayed in a hotel which had a shiny marble floor.

Once we reached our preferred location, John threw down his chair and promptly opened a towel spreading it over the collapsed lounge chair and was about to crash on it. But I stopped him because his next move would’ve proved disastrous. He looked at me with a look of bewilderment while I mouthed the words, ‘open it first,’ believing that even if his brain had ceased to function, the old instinct of fight or flight might kick in and he would prevent his ultimate demise by acting on what he could lip read. And thank God, he did. Once we were both firmly ensconced on our respective lounge chairs, I picked up the local rag and began to read the moronic editorials from those on the left and right laughing every few seconds. Soon though the combination of badly misspelled words and grammatically incorrect English put me to sleep. The last thing I heard was John shouting to me asking me if he could borrow my cigarette lighter.

“Bon voyage,” I replied and I was out for the count. At one point I did open my eyes wondering why he had asked to borrow a cigarette lighter considering I didn’t smoke. But obviously that didn’t last long and so closed my eye lids again.

“Dammit!” I shouted as I felt something wet, very wet, at room temperature land on my stomach.

“What?” shouted John from behind his illicit copy of Play whatever.

“Look at this,” I continued opening my eyes and surveying the damage. “One of those damn pelicans that were flying overhead in perfect formation decided it was time to discard its lunch and it landed right on top of me.”

John laughed. He was as usual, no help. “At least it’s better than having a warm beer on a cold day,” he added and went back to his stupid magazine. I was left with decisions to make. There were two as I saw it. The first was to go back to the hotel, which was about 15 minutes away, and change or the second, was to just grin and bear it and pray for it to dry quickly. I chose the latter. I closed my eyes trying to think of pleasant thoughts when I heard my friend loud and clear.

“Why don’t you jump in the ocean and wash it off?” I was stunned. The first thing I did was to castigate myself for not thinking of that but secondly, because my friend who would lose a maths competition to an earthworm, had thought of it first. It would now bring him bragging rights at the golf club.

I waited a full ten minutes, thereby leaving him to think he had made another stupid remark in a long line of stupid remarks which I had treated appropriately, before getting up and gingerly walking towards the water’s edge. When I was close enough from the water’s edge for it to be considered safe, I launched myself into the welcoming waves. I remained under water for a few precious moments before resurfacing coughing and spluttering. I still couldn’t understand the comment he had made when I told him about my misfortune. ‘Having a warm beer on a cold day,’ didn’t make any sense whatever. But in the grand scheme of things, I was very glad to feel clean. So, I swam back to the shore and began walking back to where my friend was laying.

“Those damn pelicans crap on you as well?” I stopped in my tracks. I turned my head towards where the words originated. I saw an elderly man, who decided it was better to stay above ground for a few more years, looking annoyed.

“You too?” I asked trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Yeah,” he replied, “I’ll be glad when the bus leaves.” Yes, there was a whole conversation I could’ve had with the man on just that, but I wasn’t interested.

“Better than drinking warm beer on a cold day,” I replied continuing my walk back to my lounge chair. I never looked back to see what expression of bewilderment the man had on his face. My friend was now asleep.

I gently lowered myself back down onto my chair resisting the temptation to let out a loud sound and closed my eyes. I lay there for what seemed only a few seconds before I heard the elderly man I had left behind at the water’s edge. I opened my eyes. He was standing over my friend who now had his eyes wide open as the man dripped sea water on him.

“’Ere mate. You’ve got a funny friend. He thinks it’s ok to drink warm beer, especially on a cold day!” John looked over at me and then up at his new friend.

“You’ve got to forgive him,” John replied, “he’s not all there.”

“That’s for sure,” responded the elderly man who decided he had had enough excitement to serve him for quite a while, and turned leaving, dripping as he did.

“A friend of yours?” asked John.

“More likely to be a friend of yours,” I replied. “I try to stay away from lunatics.”

“You never gave me an answer!” shouted John when he finally stopped just inches away from my head. There would’ve been no point in ducking because I’m sure the propeller blade would’ve severed my head.

“I did tell you,” I replied in between more gulps of sea water.

“You just said that more people get eaten by sharks closer to the shore, because that’s where the people are.”

“Correct,” I gurgled. “So, I decided if I were to swim further out there wouldn’t be any sharks here.”

“Or just bigger sharks who couldn’t get closer to the beach.” Now why didn’t I think of that I wondered to myself. But before I could question that, I heard a loud and fully encompassing ship’s horn which made me jump out of my skin. I looked around and there was Maria Santa, yes it was that close I could read the name on the side of the ship, aiming straight for my head.

“Jump in,” shouted John as he expected me to fly out of the water using my jet pack and land right on to his father’s yacht.

“How about giving me a hand?” I asked logically. I could see the bulb come on in his brain. I could tell by the smell because they say it’s the same smell as seared steak in space. I know that, because of another friend of ours who was a reject from astronaut school told us that. But more about him later.

John lowered his arm into the water which I then grabbed and in one continuous motion jumped onto the yacht just in time for him to rev up the powerful Tesla engines and aim for the shore, right before the Maria Santa and John’s father’s yacht ‘Daddys little Girl,’ became one.