On Tuesday we get up and go downstairs to have breakfast and this is the last time we go downstairs to have breakfast, because a bowl of cereal and some tea are not really worth the incessant chat that they come with by the oversized, overly chatty landlady. On this Tuesday morning I make the decision that I’d rather starve to death if I were given the choice.
Then I bleach my hair a bit more turning it a nice shade of orange and then we head out to go to the beach. As we’re leaving the room I remind Scott the deal that we have – he always has to walk places first so that I can hide behind him and if anyone decides to talk to us, they will have to talk to him first / only. This works great in Newquay, not only with the landlady, but also with the surf shop people where we hire our boards: they’re also fond of the banter.
(Please note this formation if you ever see Scott and me out and about, in a club, on the street and we’re heading somewhere – he always walks ahead of me – like an opening act)
After the surfing it’s suddenly dinner time and after the dinner time it’s suddenly the evening. This evening we decide to skip Big Brother and we go out to “the bars” earlier than usual.
Everyone is out and about again getting smashed so we spend the following two or three hours watching the carnage, which includes a number of straight boys dancing around this pole in (what turns out to be our favourite bar) The Central.
If I were a straight lad (which I should be really, I don’t know where it all went wrong) I would want to be one of those pole dancing on that Tuesday evening in Newquay, in a circle of pissed friends cheering them on waiting for their turn to have a go, as part of a drinking game? Male bravado? Something like that anyway.
- We surf more
- We go out and play with the straight people more
- I buy a huge bag from my move to Sydney from Blue Rush / two pairs of moccasins (one leather, one suede) that look like they should be worn by at least an 80-year-old and I love / a hoodie with Newquay embroidered at the front and my middle name that I’ll be using in Sydney as a first name embroidered at the back
- I buy some hair dye which is supposed to turn my orange hair into my natural colour (L’Oreal Excellence Natural Light Brown No.6) and dye my hair again
- I ask Scott whilst surfing whether my hair looks like natural light brown and Scott replies, no it looks dyed like fuck brown
- I decide to get rid of that and dye my hair black, the most ridiculous intense black I can find, so I buy Schwarzkopf Live Deep Black no.99
And this is what colour my hair is right now. I’m not sure if looking like Madonna in the Rain video with short black hair, blue eyes and pale skin is a good thing or not (I will go with “not” just as a gut instinct), but I guess I’m stuck with this for the moment.
Then on Friday we drive back to London. Am I the only person who wishes he could live in motorway service stations? Maybe. Maybe not.
And that was the end of Newquay.