So here I am, lying on the beach, on holiday. There's nothing to beat the simple pleasure of lying on a sunbed with the sun on your face, not much on, enjoying the refreshing sea breeze and the soothing sound of the waves. Throw in the thought that there are many long easy days of this bliss stretching ahead and I soon reach the conclusion that the beach is a much better place to spend your days than almost anywhere else on the planet. It almost makes me wish I was Brazilian - one of those lithe and attractive Brazilians who spends half their life on the beach that is, not a poor, starving one who begs for scraps in a Rio slum.

The sun's heat bears down on me with an almost tangible weight, flattening me into the sunbed like a helpless waffle. I close my eyes, soaking it up gratefully, wishing life could always be like this. I let out a noisy sigh of satisfaction. A beer would be nice but its miles to the bar.

I prop myself up on one elbow and take in the scene. I've already tried out the water 'sports' – namely sitting on a giant banana-shaped inflatable, getting tugged around by a speedboat, falling off, getting on again, falling off. Its a good laugh. Well it passes ten minutes on anyway. The lapping waves and a low-key murmur of conversation make the crowded beach seem remarkably still, the peace is only disturbed by a banana-tugger racing past in his speedboat and the braying of an overweight-but-pretending-to-be-quite-athletic German nearby. He's a shiny, bronzed mountain of flesh wearing a pair of trunks meant for an eight year old playing energetic beach tennis with his old lady. At that rate he won't have long to live - what with all that beer and bockwurst and leaping about. Serve him right too, noisy fat git.

The beach is packed with holidaymakers, some living the simple life with no more than a towel and sunglasses, others apparently intent on erecting temporary townships with sunbeds, chairs, windbreaks, umbrellas, tables, cool boxes and a little tent for the kiddies. Next year they'll bring plumbing and electricity with them.

Nearby a fat old dear is gingerly wriggling out of her clothes and into swimming gear. Why didn't you do that before you came out you silly old bat? I wonder, as she struggles to cover herself with an inadequate beach towel. Hopefully she won't spot me looking or she might think I've been ogling her. Fat chance, fat lady, I'd never ogle you - I'm more of a leer man anyway. That's not a defence that would stand up in court, I suppose, if she indignantly summoned the Beach Police Rapid-Response Unit and had me led away in handcuffs for shameless ogling. Hopefully the fuzz would take one look at her and send me on my way with a handshake. And if I was going to leer at anybody it would be those three Danish girls over there with the healthy, uninhibited and casual attitude to disrobement. I lie down again and doze, dreaming of sun, sea and sand and Brazilians.