There comes a time in every man's life when he has to escape the daily grind. A time to pack up, ship out ans leave the endless string of debt collectors, questioning reporters, paparazzi, and professional bounty hunters in his wake and jettison himself to a place where he can lay low and soak up the carcinogenic sunshine, UV-A and B, unblocked by the chemical smog and loud noise of inner-city life.
So in case you haven't been able to tell, I've lived it up in what can best be described as a pimping beach house in Byron Bay last week. I'm not entirely sure as to how we managed to score the place - Bren mentioned something about it belonging to or being managed by some family friends of his, so we managed to get a week for free. Personally, I reckon that Bren is actually a man of royalty on the run from an arranged marriage, but I'll play along and act like I believe his story. Especially if it keeps landing me on holiday spots like this.
Our itinerary consisted mostly of lying on the balcony and tanning, drinking beer, doing some more tanning, eating some things, people watching, having more beer, and surfing. This was occasionally interrupted by a visiting friend who had popped in for a day or two - the house sleeps seven, so there's plenty of space. We would also watch set over Mt. Warning which, frankly, was a pretty good sight.
A dolphin!
The wildlife was pretty nice too. We spotted dolphins, a few rays, and even a humpback whale migrating down the coast. Lovely.
My short holday was drawn to a close when we returned last Saturday to go back to the drudgery of urban everyday life. The prospect of buying a place like this after I graduate and then working on a laptop on the balcony has certainly entered my mind once or twice.
Fuck, yeah that'd be cool. I'd sleeping until 10 in the morning, arise for a nice fresh coffee whilst checking out the surfing conditions. I'd chat with clients on my mobile while I wax up my surfboard, then I'd let the secretary take the calls as I catch the first goof waves of the day. Lunchtime would be a splendid feast of sushi and mango salad prepared for by my very own macrobiotic chef from Sweden. This would be followed by a intensive hour-long shiatsu massage session, before I head back into the water for a few more waves. After an hour or so of showing the locals how to be a Surf Zen Master, I'd head back to prepare for my nightly cocktail party, to which I'd invited a number of local and international socialites, people of immense attractiveness and good standing.
So if there's anyone out there willing to bankroll my little fun operation, please contact me. I figure the house would probably cost around $3 million, and I'll need a weekly allowance of at least five grand to keep me living the lifestlye I so clearly desire. Applications can be made to my e-mail address, please put in the subject line:
"Attn: Quin - Stop Bloody Dreaming You Twat"
Comments