Once a visit my mother likes to subject me to some random act of torture. This year it was a trip to the beach, my most hated of places. To make it worse, I went out with my dad the night before and drank for England. And to make it even worse still, it was my morning to get up with Billy. I got a miserably feeble 4 hours of sleep. Apparently when my dad woke up he “looked like a corpse.” We’d been to Freddy’s and watched some country music.
This train journey was the highlight:
When we arrived at our destination, Amityville, we discovered there was nothing to do and nowhere to go. The town beach is private and the train station is situated in a typically suburban setting in Long Island. AKA hell.
We got a taxi to Bayshore, a marina for boating enthusiasts/chubby republicans. I sat on the boardwalk and sulked like a little child. The wretched sand blew over me and saturated me. Mum, dad and Heidi made the most of the microscopic beach.
Billy did a shit on the sand.
My dad and I tried to sleep but I was afflicted by my restless leg syndrome and spent my time twitching my legs cursing the day my mother was born.
In the end my mum got her wish and showed Billy a good time