Words beginning with the letter 'B'

So, we were offered a slice of a Hamptons house-share this summer. For those of you who have somehow managed to survive thus far in life without knowing of the place, allow me to enlighten. The Hamptons refers to a collection of hamlets and villages on the east end of New York’s Long Island. Known as a playground of the rich and the famous and rich, the Hamptons has appeared in numerous movies, including 'Something’s Gotta Give' (one of my faves) 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,' and 'The Nanny Diaries.'

"This is as may be, Giles," I hear you say, "but was that really all it took to convince you to part with a hefty wad of greenbacks in exchange for cohabitation (and thus the inevitable bathroom conflicts) with a bunch of folk you don’t know from Adam? Tch tch, Giles, didn’t know you were so shallow." Well, hold on just a minute. My reason for signing up was, I believe, based on a sound and universally acknowledged truth; New York City in July and August can be a stinking, claustrophobic monster and hotter than Satan’s armpit. If the chance to abscond to the seaside pops up over a dry Martini, then by god you take it! The rich, beautiful, famous people are mere garnish, like the pickle that comes with your burger – it adds a certain something but it ain’t why you chose your meal.

We went. Four weekends. I had to share a house on the beach with five girls and my friend Tom. It was tough. Anyway, the Hamptons is strange. There are trees and grass and quaint farmers markets and beaches and the ocean and a few good restaurants and even a windmill. There are some big houses, but most of them look like they came flat-packed with an allen key (hex key for you Americans). It is very quaint and pretty but it’s not posh. Not really. You’ll drive along a wide stretch of road with the sea on your right beyond a verdant verge, and on your left you’ll come across a roadside shack swarming with the well-groomed. There they all are, grown-ups on the prowl, desperation to copulate coming off them in clouds, sucking mashed banana, Baileys, and Colada through straws. And you join them. Sucking eagerly, as though your life depends on it. Then, when the sun has gone and the Atlantic whips up a chill breeze, the same folk drive off (yes, even after two hour’s boozing) only to ‘reapply’ and reappear at the local club, which, by the way, is deadly, in the way that a female scorpion is deadly. A friend said excitedly of the place, ‘you only have to show up.’ I think he was being pessimistic – they’ll get you in the line outside.

To more wholesome things. We took our bikes. They’re not normal bikes but cruisers, complete with fat tyres and flame paint job. Mine is called the Rat Rod and if James Dean or the devil himself ever rode a bike it was a bike like the Rat. We thought it would be great fun, halcyon even, to pedal around in the countryside, the sea air against our eyelashes, our hair playing innocently in the kind breath of summer. And all this happened, my friends, it really did. But we couldn’t help but feel that our trusty bicycles weren’t fitting in. Perhaps we should have taken the Ferrari, or at least the BMW. Because, despite the quiet, wide, shady lanes and shorts weather, one does not pedal in the Hamptons.

We barbecued and drank Rose and played in the sea, and I, miss-timing a gargantuan wave, swallowed a pint of the brine and promptly threw up. Tom lost his shorts to another disorderly wave, giving the Hamptons a taste of good old, white as death, hairy English arse. Which was nice. Our housemates were hospitable, hot-blooded…and hot. The weather was beautiful. We saw Sarah Jessica Parker in the fish section of the supermarket.

But best of all, Tom and I discovered, whilst lying on the beach, that all the best words begin with the letter B. It’s true. Beach. Bikini. Bonfire. Boobs. Beer. Babes. Bacon. Think about it. Barbeque. Bacardi. Burrito. Bitch. BBC. Baboon. Bugs. Biscuit. Bed.

And my favourite. Bum.

All in all, I think we’ll miss our Hamptons summer sojourn. Would I do it again?

Bet your Bottom Buck I would.