Mission Bay Bob Swims at...Mission Bay

Just a quick update about Mission Bay Bob: you guessed it, he’s down at Mission Bay swimming in the sludge-murk without a care in the world! With full sunburn!

The rest of humanity has actually bothered to stay out of that particular beach because it is awash with sewerage, but not Bob.

He has paid his rates to Mayor Brown and he will be damned if anyone will stop him using it. And he will paddle with his mouth wide open, in defiance of the previous Labour government’s restrictive laws that stopped hard-working New Zealand taxpayers from swimming during Covid.

Meanwhile up on the beach, Barb is battling nature by killing insects and small friendly dogs with a flyswat while trying to stave off the pesky the sun from surface of her iPad so she can do Daily Sudoku.

She’s brought hamper of goodies: 2 x Molenberg sandwiches using up the last of the Christmas ham (shudder, it’s January 4), a Thermos of milky tea, a packet of Cameo Cremes, a handful of Macintosh Egg Cremes, some cream to pour over the remainder of the Christmas pudding, sunscreen cream, actually just a lot of cream-themed items.

But back to Bob. He’s wearing the same swimming trunks he was wearing in 1962; a pinstripe that were once very fitted, shall we say. Now they are a little loose around the leg, nonetheless they send a clear message: I Own These Beaches!

After a lovely dip in the ocean (as he calls it, because he pretends he’s in the Maldives), he strides up the beach, his BluBlockers gradually changing in the sunlight, back to Barb who is now pouring hot tea into Arcoroc mugs in 28 degree climate-change heat and complaining that the King tides have fair ruined their chances of getting an extra few extra tens of thousands of dollars in the housing market since they bought their beachside home.

Bob sips his mug of tea and guffaws at the state of undress of the young beach go-ers, in particular the young women who are exposing just a bit too much skin for his tastes. However Bob’s ancient testicles are hanging out of his trunks and somehow giving a new meaning to the phrase ‘a wrinkle in time’.

After about 84 years of living on this planet, Bob still feels unbalanced around women, food, experiences, even the beach. The toilet. It’s an incredible thing to watch.

However the toilet is going to become his bestie tonight as that ocean swim will go right through him to the point he will be praying to the Lord, Lorde, Dr Dre and possibly me to help him stop shitting through the eye of a needle.

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Next time on the newsletter: (lol)