Tuesday, 7 August 2012
South of France dream goddess bikini
We were shown into a curtained changing room and told to put on our swimwear. There were girls everywhere, exposing various parts of their generally perfect bodies. I wished I hadn’t eaten so much at breakfast and wondered whether I too should have topped up with some fungal-smelling Quicktan. Carol got a Bic razor out of her bag and did a tidy up of her bikini line much to the horror of a tall Italian-looking girl who was stuffing paper into her bikini top.
‘Did you bring the yellow one?’ Carol asked.
‘Of course.’ It was my South of France dream-goddess bikini, which had won general acclaim at ‘La Sirene Camping’ the previous summer. Guaranteed to get you noticed, although not yet tested in an interview situation.
‘Now, now. No seething in public. Did you bring your space-girl bikini?’
‘She did.’ I nodded towards a girl wearing a silver two-piece with an intricate choker arrangement around her neck. Very Barbarella.
‘God, look at my blotches! These mirrors must be wrong.’ Carol was examining the fronts of her thighs, which looked as though they had been tie-died.
I pondered the idea of wrong mirrors.
‘Viviana, please!’ The Italian-looking girl was in fact Italian and she was next. She turned and gave us what can only be described as a deprecating sneer, stepped gracefully through the curtains and disappeared with her perfect ass in tow.
‘Did you see her cellulite?’ Carol scowled.
‘No?’ I said.
‘Neither did I.’
Thanks for looking! Bunny on a Bike is on Amazon if you'd like to read more: http://tinyurl.com/8odp3rd
Friday, 3 August 2012
The tube station was not far from the casino and when it came into sight I thought it looked more like an enormous, ungainly office block. It was on pillars, but not the classical kind, and it looked so, so wrong. The windows were high up and masked by long curtains, which presumably hid the bright, luxurious interior. I suppose I thought the building would be grander, more ornate – dripping with wealth.
‘What a dump!’ said Carol.
She wasn’t wrong.
Then, we saw all the people. There were hundreds of them. Girls and some boys too, just standing there, in the longest queue I had ever seen. It went along the side of the building, round the corner and on for at least a hundred yards. On closer inspection I noticed how the young trendies were dressed. Never had I seen so many fashion mistakes in one place. I pushed back my dyed blonde hair and eased up my skin-tight jeans.
‘Do you think they are all here for the croupier jobs?’ I wondered aloud.
‘Of course they are, you silly cow. Let’s get in the bloody queue, shall we?’ Carol shoved me and we walked along the pavement, checking out the competition.
‘They look younger than us. And prettier,’ Carol whispered.
‘Speak for yourself!’ I said.