Wilmington Beach

Last weekend I went to the beach. That would have been all well and good if I hadn’t left the beach fried to a crisp. Let me give you a bit of context and why I am so mad about this situation.

Some friends and I went to the beach for a day trip two Saturdays ago. It was raining a little in the morning, but the 2 hour drive soon saw us into bluer skies and cooler breezes. We drove to Wrightsville Beach in Wilmington and we set up about 15 feet from the ocean. After applying sun cream earlier in the day, I topped up my cream and went swimming in the sea for about 30 minutes. The waves were rough and the sea was cool. It was wonderful swimming in the sea after not having done it for so long. After drying off in the sun for a little while I reapplied sun cream and had a little nap.

After napping we went for a walk and ate the food we packed before swimming again. We quickly left the ocean due to the lifeguard informing us about the riptides. I pulled out a book and the others all laid back down to go to sleep. I covered up with a towel and a wrap and put my giant hat on. I took all the precautions whilst the others just layed out to cook in the sun. We left the beach at 4pm and used the showers on the beach. It was quite ineffective but at the very least we didn’t track too much of the beach into Katy’s car.

We drove back to Katy’s house and the whole journey home I had pins and needles in my bum… That’s right, 2 hours in the car with pins and needles in my bum. Once we made it back I had a freezing shower and the burns were exposed. 80% of my body was burnt: chest, arms, legs and back. Needless to say, I am still peeling over a week later and the annoying thing was I was burnt the worst and I took the most precautions! Curse this pale British skin!

I suppose the moral of the story is just because you don’t look like you are getting burnt doesn’t mean you aren’t. Or maybe if you are British, the beach doesn’t love you as much as you think.