Not that the donkey was too perturbed. There is usually a certain amount of equanimity in the donkey’s general outlook most of the time, so the sight of her approaching in what could – with a certain amount of leeway – be described as a bikini was not too disconcerting to the aforementioned donkey.
In the donkey’s opinion, and it was one it often put forth with some conviction that belied its usual equanimity, that adults were better than ‘sodding kids’ any time, even if they did tend to be heavier. At least they didn’t leave sticky hand marks all over your coat which attracted that other regular denizen of the summer beach, the wasp.
The donkey hated wasps. After all if you have long ears you definitely do not want some buzzing little sod with a bastard of a sting buzzing about in them searching for some sticky residue left over from a child’s pawings.
Although, this one looked heavy even for an adult, with the bikini – what there was of it – struggling to contain its contents.
It was lucky, the donkey speculated, that she was physically incapable of running because that flimsy bikini would not be able to cope with the stresses and strains and well… there would undoubtedly be casualties buried under the escaping heaps of runaway flesh, left to die a slow, agonising and – seemingly - a rather sweaty death.
Still, the donkey thought, there were worse ways of making a living, although, for the life of it, it couldn’t think if one right at that moment, as it caught - out of the corner of its eye – the sight of a thigh the size of North Wales itself being raised to sit astride the donkey’s back, and it looked like the bikini top was about to give up under the strain….
Then everything went black.
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