“So where’s the beach?” Nigel asked, surveying the green cliff top that they were currently parked on.
          “Down there,” Sean said.
          “Where?”
          “At the bottom of the cliff.”
          “Oh great. How do we get down there then?”
          “There’s bound to be a path somewhere,” Sean said, reassuringly as he climbed out of the car.
          “This is not a path,” Nigel stated as they made there way down the roughly hewn groove in the cliff side.
          “Maybe not,” Rob said, as he led the way. “But this is what I call a beach!”
          The beach didn’t look as though it belonged in England, the sands were golden, the sea an aqua, turquoise shimmer. It immediately made up for the gloomy weekend. It was just as Sean was taking in this hidden bit of heaven that he turned just in time to see Rob get hit in the side of the head by a Frisbee, then heard someone yell out in the distance.
          “Oh shit! Mate, I’m so sorry,” this came from one of a group of lads who were all trying to look as though they had never seen a Frisbee before in their entire lives as Rob clutched at his skull.
          “You alright mate?”
          “Of course he’s not alright, you nearly sliced his head off with that thing!”
          “It’s made of plastic Nigel, don’t exaggerate,” Maggie said. “He’ll be fine,” she added to the Frisbee thrower, as she sidestepped Rob to get to him. “I’m Maggie,” she said holding out her hand.
          “Jason,” the Frisbee thrower announced taking her hand.
          “Nice to meet you.”
          “Pleasure,” Rob muttered. “I think I’m bleeding.”
          “Once again Rob, you were hit by a round bit of plastic. You’ll live.”
          “I’m really sorry mate, it just kind of got carried off by the wind,” Jason said.
          “Don’t pay him any attention,” Maggie said, “in fact, mind if I join you?” she added, before taking Jason by the arm and leading him back to his friends.
          “Oh. No, you’re all welcome to join in, if you’d like?”
          “Yeah, why not?” Sean said, following after them.
          Nigel and Rob looked at each other.
          “Seriously,” Rob started. “Is it bleeding?”
          “Oh come on,” Nigel said, dragging Rob across the beach.

“Is it really bad that I feel completely wrecked now?” Nigel asked, half an hour later as he, Rob and Sean lay flat out on the beach.
          “It’s the alcohol from last night, we’re all still nursing hangovers,” Sean said.
          “And mild concussion,” Rob added.
          “Oh give it a rest mate.”
          “It really hurt!”
          “I must be getting old,” Nigel concluded, as he looked over at Maggie still busy playing Frisbee with the others.
          A little while later Maggie came over and rejoined Sean, Nigel and Rob who were half asleep, sprawled out on the sand.
          “Guys! Jason was telling me about this beach party that’s happening tonight, sounds like it’s going to be a good laugh. We should check it out.”
          “Mmm,” the other three said, less than enthusiastically.
          “It’ll be fun!” Maggie continued.
          “Mmm.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” The woman from the lettings agency said sheepishly, as she finished showing us around the flat.
          “What is it?” I asked.
          “Are you lesbians?”
          This was not a question I thought I would be asked when viewing property, but it proved to be a reoccurring one.
          I burst out laughing, while my flatmate went bright red. “No, we’re not,” I said.
          “I’m really sorry,” the lettings lady said quickly while looking at the floor. “I was trying to listen to your conversation to figure out if you were or not, it’s just that the landlord doesn’t want sharers.”
          “Oh.”
          “You could always pretend to be lesbians?”

We had just graduated from university, my flatmate was staying on an extra year to do her PGCE and I didn’t want to move back home. Although it would have saved my mother and myself a lot of money, as I wouldn’t have to spend as much on rent or council tax, and she wouldn’t have to spend a fortune phoning me every five minutes to make sure I wasn’t pregnant, on drugs, or starving to death from being unable to afford food. Presumably as a result of spending all my money on pregnancy tests and crack cocaine.
          The whole money situation wasn’t actually too bad, but for a two bedroom flat we’d be looking at over £350 a month each; more than either of us could afford. So we decided we would have to look at one bedroom flats where we could convert the living room into a second bedroom.
          “But that means you won’t have a living room,” one observant lettings agent informed me.
          “Yes,” I said. I felt this really covered everything that needed to be said, but I was compelled to fill the following silence as the letting agent in question tried to get to grips with this alien concept. “Basically we don’t want to commute, and this is the only way we can afford to stay in the city.
          “Oh, okay. Well I think I may have one property that would be suitable.
          “Oh great!” I said, warming to the man slightly.
          We met him outside the property the next day and found that the place was perfect. Apart from the fact that you had to walk through the living room to get to the kitchen and the living room itself fed directly off the hall without a door in between. This was not, on the whole, indicative to the privacy one expects from a bedroom.
          “How exactly did you see this working?” I asked.
          “Well I thought you could construct some kind of temporary partition,” he started, spreading his arms in an artistic fashion reminiscent of Laurence Llewelyn Bowen.
          My flatmate and I looked at each other.
          “Really?” I said.
          He nodded enthusiastically.
          “We’ll think about it,” I lied.

“Bloody Cornish,” Nigel said, once Mr Jones was in his tent and safely out of earshot.
          “He’s Welsh,” Sean pointed out.
          “Whatever. It’s all the same. They’re all mental.”
          “I like him,” Rob said. “He’s not letting his ex-wife get the better of him.”
          “Doesn’t sound as though he’s that innocent though does it? I mean, how do you accidentally sleep with someone?
          “Don’t know. Ask my ex, she’s the expert on infidelity, not me.”
          “Do you think she’ll turn up? Mrs Jones I mean,” Sean asked, grinning. “That could be interesting, I’d like to witness that!”
          “You don’t think he’d actually shoot her though, do you?” Rob asked.
          Nigel dropped his head into his hands. “This is not a holiday.”

Rob returned to the table about fifteen minutes later. “Well Maggie seems to be fitting in alright,” he observed.
         Maggie was busy winning a game of pool against some of the local men.
         “That’s only because she smokes, swears and drinks as much as they do,” Nigel said, as they watched Maggie sink another ball into the corner pocket, then stagger around the pool table to retrieve her pint and sink half of that in one go.
         “She’s kicking their arses, yet she can barely stand! How does that work?” Rob asked.
         “Ah well, you see, it’s like an animal instinct for our Maggie. Winning is an integral part of her being.”
         There was a cheer from the local men as Maggie fell off a barstool onto the floor. Once she’d been helped to her feet she proceeded to pot another two balls.
         “Do you think I should go and see if she’s okay?” Sean asked.
         “You won’t be thanked for it,” Nigel said. “She’ll just have a go at you for being patronising.”
         “Yeah, I guess. Shall we finish these and tell her that we wanna head back?”
         “Well I’m not going to be the one to tell her she has to leave. I want to get back in one piece!”
         “Oh hi Mags!” Sean said quickly as Maggie stumbled up to their table.
         “Guys, quick, finish drinking, we have to go!”
         “Why? What have you done?” Nigel said, instantly looking around for signs of lethal contempt among the locals.
         “Nothing! But apparently there’s a guy outside selling ice-cream!”
         “Don’t be daft,” said Rob. “It’s 11 o’clock at night! Who’s going to be selling ice-cream at this time?”
         Maggie shot Rob a dark look, then continued pleading to the other two. “There is. One of the guys over there told me,” she said, pointing in the vague direction of the group around the pool table.
         “They’re having you on mate,” Sean said.
         “No they’re not! Come on!” She said, grabbing Sean’s arm and pulling him to his feet.
         Rob and Nigel sat sniggering as they watched Maggie drag Sean out of the pub.
         “Maggie…” Sean started to protest, but stopped short as they got outside. Amid the drizzle and dark streets, the cheery glow of an ice-cream van lit the puddles all around it.
         “Oh my God! There’s an ice-cream van over there!”
         “I told you,” Maggie gloated, as she led the way over to the van.