summer lovin’

14 09 2010

The white yacht was anchored off the beach again.

For more than a week it had sat there, occasionally disappearing at sunset, only  to reappear the next morning.

And like clockwork, the yacht discharged its British guests to the beach daily, where they crammed in amongst the plump brown Greeks and Italian families on holiday.

But in the same way the British distinguished themselves with their pasty skin and Cockney accents, the yacht and its passengers were never truly a part of this carefree holiday scene.

The yacht’s position off the beach was far enough to deter nosy swimmers and only just within the reach of the most determined locals on pedal boats.

Because even from the beach, it loomed huge.

And the curious holidaymakers couldn’t help but be drawn in by the size, the gleaming white hull, the assumed importance.

“Whose is the yacht? Is it a king? Hollywood?”

Those same wondering locals might like to have imagined the visitors added a degree of glamour to their beach, but truly, the yacht added nothing.

vessels changed to protect the innocent

Staying actively apart from their fellows, the British had meals delivered on gold trays to the beach, even going so far as taking their own drinks ashore. To the beach bar.

Each morning a dinghy would slip ashore and quietly dump another dozen bags of garbage into the roadside bins and every night, when everyone was in bed, clouds of filth would quietly seep out of the yacht into the clear Aegean waters.

Even the cheerful delivery of the Brits to the beach was a lie.

“Have a great time, sir. Enjoy the beach, guys. Byeeeee…”

Smiles hid grim faces as the crew returned from the beach run to set about preparing the yacht for the return of their owners.

Yes, the ‘owners’ effectively held possession of their crew along with the yacht.

Ever cheerful on the outside, each white-clad worker secretly despised their employers for their sense of entitlement, ignorance and neediness.

The reality was that the British had rented themselves 16 friends for the summer, friends who were apparently only too pleased to work 14 hours a day for 90 days straight.

So the British could have a holiday in the sun.

But luckily, summer doesn’t last forever.

Soon the sun would be gone and with it, the British.



5 responses

14 09 2010
Anji B

Give the MRS a ‘Poo gift’ in her handbag next time she goes to shore. Oh, the hilarity.

20 09 2010

Summed it up well Keysie. Enjoying your website. keep the blogs coming and enjoy the break!

21 09 2010

Sounds like a novel….maybe you should write one sometime soon?

21 09 2010

Yep, it’s been an interesting summer.
‘Interesting’ as in six months of my life I’ll never get back.

Ben: So are you happy then?
Kasey: If by happy you mean trapped with no means of escape, then yes, I’m happy.

7 10 2010
Ess Bee

bloody Elites befouling the world, if its not with their cavier laced turds its with their smugness. No doubt part of some banking cartel family out to depopulate the world and bring in a global government based on some lie spewed forth from the compromised scientific dictatorship that we live under.

Bring back freedoms, once being on a yacht was considered freedom. Now it seems mutiny is the only sane course of action. good luck with that 🙂

noagendashow . com for deconstruction of the real news and info on these illegitimate elite thieves.

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