SUNRISE TO DRUNKEN EYES

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It wasn’t the fact that through the drunken stupor of the celebratory events of the previous night, Michael had managed to empty his bladder contents over his own prone flesh, that awakened him to the delights of a beautiful sunrise over the beach at Eastbourne. Nor was it the fact that the biting cold had alerted his addled brain to the stark reality of his state of undress and the tear inducing pain that cold nipples could have on a young man.

The creeping tide had certainly played her part as the icy October water kissed and caressed his naked limbs as he lay prostrate on the painful shingles like a New Delhi sideshow act on his personal bed of nails. His mind was like a whirling dervisher, as thoughts and recollectionss, feelings and ponderings overcame him like thundering waves as the tiny jack russel canine barked in his ear and growled at the man lying in semi darkness near one of the wooden wind breakers that peppered the beach. The dog’s owners stood just yards away, youthful female flesh, teenage hormones swimming within their cocoon of designer label clothing and arms linked, giggling like hyenas as they pointed and threw insults like daggers from a circus knife throwing act.

" It’s like a penis, only smaller ", one of them scornfully remarked as Michael’s eyes began to awaken to the sight of the wooden wind breaker, the struts upon which had been placed a variety of large pebbles and stones almost like a homage to the great pier Goddess. His head throbbed like car alarm with rhythmic precision and pain beyond belief, as memories of Saturday night began to swim back to his pool of recollection, and his hands instinctively reached down to grasp some very cold and shrivelled private regions that were distinctly devoid of clothing.

Oh the indignity of it all, as memories of ‘The Blitz’ club came back to him with brutal reality. Dave and Freddie, Jim bob and the lads from the office plying the groom to be with copious amounts of vicious coloured alcoholic liquids that tickled the throat and dampened the resolve and restraint. The brunette waitress with the wandering hands and slight lisp who cornered him in the gents lavatory on one of his many visits to see a man about a dog. Better keep that dangerous liaison his little secret in case the bride were ever to find out the sordid details. Oh, and the pain in his head like an axe to the skull, as he rose up and placed his hands as supports into the cold and wet beach pebbles, eyes adjusting to the changing light as the sun began to peek above the cloud line which caressed the horizon.

Looking around him as the canine and owners began to walk towards the pier, Michael spotted his denim jeans, shirt and shoes which, he discovered as his grateful hands made contact with the material, had all been thoroughly immersed in the salty sea water, now distinctly damp and unappealing in their current state. Around him lay the evidence of his downfall, the pool of vomit, the discarded Bacardi Breezer bottles, as the dawn of realization came as quickly as the sunrise herself. The stag party to end all others had been and gone, and now the fallout debris of his embarrassment and shame was all that remained as he stumbled to his feet in sopping wet clothing that pained his flesh and proved such an amusement to the early morning joggers, hopeful photographers and dog walking strollers who now began to litter the beach like matchstick folk in a J S Lowery painting. It was a long walk back to the hotel with not a penny in his pocket, not a scrap to feed his empty stomach, not a chance of ever living this event down once reunited with the instigators of his downfall.

‘Like a penis, only smaller!”,he thought to himself as reluctant feet tried their best to form a cohesive strategy on straight lines and general directions, as he headed back to the humiliation and scorn of his fellow peers at the ‘Crest’ hotel.

“Bloody cheek”.

All the same, there would be consequencies and repercussions for his current state of undress, as he tried his best to cover his dignity and navigate the pelikan crossing in front of shocked and amused bleary eyed commuters who’s working day had just begun in quite the unusual manner!

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Written October 22nd 2010

Photograph taken on October 20th 2010 at 05:41am, of a wooden windbreak on Eastbourne beach in East Sussex, England.

Nikon D700 35mm 1/5s f/6.3 iso200

Nikkor AFS 24-120mm f/4-5.6. Manfrotto 055XPro Carbon fibre tripod & Manfrotto 804RC2 3-way head. Nikon ML-3 infra red remote shutter release.

Posted by DESPITE STRAIGHT LINES on 2012-01-04 17:17:08

Tagged: , eastbourne , sunrise , beach , ‘eastbourne beach’ , ‘eastbourne sunrise’ , morning , drunk , drunken , recollections , alcohol , nikon , D700 , dawn , windbreal , pebbles , sussex , england , clear , night , ‘#ilobsterit’




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