1) Every second child playing Wholesome Outdoor Games on the beach is called Saskia, Lolly, Sophia, Algie, or Fred.
2) Red shorts, red trousers. Everywhere.
3) It appears to be a legal requirement to have a dog, to the extent that you begin to wonder if there is a check-point at the edge of town refusing entry to those families who turn up without them. (You personally don't own a dog, but congratulate yourself for having taken the precaution of borrowing one for the duration of your holiday. Although - picking up pooh. Do people really do this ALL the time?).
4) Said dog must be either a Jack Russell, Border Terrier, Labrador (any colour acceptable), Golden Retriever, or a Springer or Cocker Spaniel. (Your borrowed dog is a Labrador / Cocker Spaniel cross. So THAT's a relief).
5) The dog's name must be Saskia, Lolly, Sophia, Algie or Fred.
6) You walk into a shop looking for a friend who has wandered off and ask the sales assistant if she's seen her. The conversation goes as follows:
Me: 'Is my friend in the changing rooms? She's wearing a blue & white striped top.'
Sales Assistant - without missing a beat: 'You mean, like everyone else in town at the moment?'
7) The narrow streets of the town are clogged with people, children, and dogs, and things get somewhat fraught when a random parent calls out to their child (using, of course, a name from the prescribed list) and assorted toddlers and dogs strain at the leash to see who is summoning them, tripping up their red-trousered matelot-top wearing parents' and / or owners as they do so.
8) The same narrow streets are regularly jammed by traffic in the middle of the day, not by holiday makers hopelessly circumnavigating the town in their shiny 4x4's hunting for the El Dorado of an available parking space (they do at least keep moving, even if it is at snail's pace), but by Waitrose and Ocado vans driven by dead-eyed men and women trying to deliver halloumi and couscous to the hungry masses.
Please Note:
No, I'm not telling you where this is. I'm far too busy shaking the sand out of my deck shoes, sorting whites from coloureds (red shorts have a tendency to run when washed with blue & white striped tops), and hunting through the cupboards for some couscous to serve with a delicious grilled halloumi salad for dinner tonight.
2) Red shorts, red trousers. Everywhere.
3) It appears to be a legal requirement to have a dog, to the extent that you begin to wonder if there is a check-point at the edge of town refusing entry to those families who turn up without them. (You personally don't own a dog, but congratulate yourself for having taken the precaution of borrowing one for the duration of your holiday. Although - picking up pooh. Do people really do this ALL the time?).
4) Said dog must be either a Jack Russell, Border Terrier, Labrador (any colour acceptable), Golden Retriever, or a Springer or Cocker Spaniel. (Your borrowed dog is a Labrador / Cocker Spaniel cross. So THAT's a relief).
5) The dog's name must be Saskia, Lolly, Sophia, Algie or Fred.
6) You walk into a shop looking for a friend who has wandered off and ask the sales assistant if she's seen her. The conversation goes as follows:
Me: 'Is my friend in the changing rooms? She's wearing a blue & white striped top.'
Sales Assistant - without missing a beat: 'You mean, like everyone else in town at the moment?'
7) The narrow streets of the town are clogged with people, children, and dogs, and things get somewhat fraught when a random parent calls out to their child (using, of course, a name from the prescribed list) and assorted toddlers and dogs strain at the leash to see who is summoning them, tripping up their red-trousered matelot-top wearing parents' and / or owners as they do so.
8) The same narrow streets are regularly jammed by traffic in the middle of the day, not by holiday makers hopelessly circumnavigating the town in their shiny 4x4's hunting for the El Dorado of an available parking space (they do at least keep moving, even if it is at snail's pace), but by Waitrose and Ocado vans driven by dead-eyed men and women trying to deliver halloumi and couscous to the hungry masses.
Please Note:
No, I'm not telling you where this is. I'm far too busy shaking the sand out of my deck shoes, sorting whites from coloureds (red shorts have a tendency to run when washed with blue & white striped tops), and hunting through the cupboards for some couscous to serve with a delicious grilled halloumi salad for dinner tonight.
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