...It sucked.

Not because the joint was screwed. We just couldn't get any seats. And because I have a zit in my ear, makes me relatively impatient and a highly irritable. We weren't about to just stand around getting our feets soiled with imported sand. The eye candy did make for a less hasty exit though.

The joint was all good actually - a central dias which works out as a lounge area and probably a makeshift dance floor, overlooking (for god's sake) a freaking pool. Cushy chic deck beds were laid out on the beach coupled with brollies and vanilla coffee tables, beer tents, bikini babes, washboard abs hunks and the soft lush of the evening waves. It was all good. But not that enticing to make us stand and bore a hole in the unsuspecting tacky female with less than a cleavage as you stare at her whilst she slowly sips her sinewy alcoholic concoction.

As we were contemplating on a less subtle alternative, I realised that the years have really caught up on us. Even as we are heading towards a metrosexual age, where the clubs are popping out like zits, and wine and dine is the new poison, with folks heading out to get wasted and a broken hip. Nights like these, however, have left us hanging dry and the least to even consider an upbeat encore of our yesteryears where we'd head to every succulent joint that beckoned.

It sucks to be old and boring. And yeah, the zit in the ear sucks too.