IT'S 48 DEGREES HOT! WE GOT VISITORS DUE, TRY THIS BIT OF ARIEL'S STUFF
DOWN THERE ON THE COSTAS. Not for me the costas; those hideous concrete labyrinths; those Babels of foreign tongues, where the briny sea air is ubiquitously redolent of frying fish and chips, and loud with children’s shrieks. Not for me those lands of black socks with sandals; of hideous, obscene tee shirts and lurid shorts above nasty little pink legs; sunset pink legs, like the limbs of the prawns that they snarf from cracked supermarket plates. Down there on the costas, those ghost pale... Sign in to see full entry.