Hi, Dudes. And Dudesses. Or Dudettas. Or, if you like, Dudes as well.
We’re easy here.
None of that formal grammar shit is gonna get us down, man.
The surfing poetry Professor, Doctor Pockless sticks with the true blue taste of his homeland whilst drinking virtual Californian themed cocktails while actually being in Eastern Europe. I can totally get down with that, dude. Have a pint of ale.
The resident, and standard if the top can be called the standard, in Californian chic, Kate requests a Long Island Iced Tea…that’s a drink that’s a long way from home, dude.
Sticking her chin defiantly up in the air and reaching out both hands with her feet planted firmly on the home turf, Anna reaches for two large jugs of Pimm’s No.1 cup…iced and with a couple of glasses rammed with fruit and sprigs of mint.
Cool.
Adrian, it’s rude to stare.
D requests sex on the beach.
Anyone?
Right, well, take this with you when you go; a Ewan ‘Special’ Tequiwi. Please be discreet. We don’t want anyone getting arrested now.
A large, crushed ice Marguerita for Steph, in a fluted glass frosted with the finest ice sugar, as she runs a refined and perfectly manicured finger around the rim, the high whine sends shivers down the spine of Pete, who is also nursing a frothy pint of the UK’s finest beer.
Meanwhile, Mark is describing to Steph how he first came to have a Gilligan’s Island…something about a transvestite bar, and how there’s no point in ignoring a good cocktail recipe, no matter how it comes your way…
Graybo and Hels chink glasses at one of the tables on the bamboo terrace…one pint and one gin and tonic…of course, this may be Uborka Beach, CA, but no matter how far people go…enjoy the birthday drinks!
There’s more tequila goodness in the form of a Tequila Sunrise for Pix, who has something exciting planned for tonight’s beach party, by the sounds of things…
Mr. D, mate. Pull up a wicker stool and wipe the sun-induced sweat from your brow. A large glass, some ice cubes and a long, relished pour from the bottle of Smirnoff Blue, and the bottle stays on the bar. Help yourself -it’s how we do it, but if you wouldn’t mind sparing a slug or two, Lyle would like me to mix him up a Vodka, Archer’s and Cranberry Juice…cheers bud.
Angel turns up her nose at all this talk of crudity on the sands and simply asks for a Blue Hawaiian…I see. That leaves her options rather liberally open…and, late with NO EXCUSE because he works just over the road, is greenhamster, also taking advantage of the Uborkabar’s draught ales.
Hanni asks for orange juice, and there are already some being squeezed through the machine…and yet more Sex on The Beach for S…it’s going to be a busy night out there people…better stake your claim to a suitable spot nice and early.
Karen, swanning in in a stunning bathing costume from work, requests something on the rocks..well, take your pick dude- there’s everything here, and the bar’s yours. The best way to come home, I feel.
Now, as the sun goes down over the ocean, a cool breeze sweeps through the open bamboo terrace and the folks here at Uborka Beach lounge relaxedly in their chairs, chatting amiably, listening to the sounds of the sea and the cool tunes from the bar’s 1950s Whurlitzer, there’s just time for me to grab a bottle of Stoli and a flask of freshly squeezed orange juice and hop into the bar’s yellow jeep with Krissa.
We’re off to the rocks, kids.
Help yourselves behind the bar.
And if that Hasselhoff fella comes knocking, tell him we don’t want any.