What is it about summer that makes it the sexiest season? Is it the smell of flowers wafting on the breeze? The sense of life, buzzing and growing all around us? Or could it simply be that sunny days make us happier and therefore hornier?
Each summer brings with it certain expected things – the return of the swallow; long evenings spent in beer gardens; warnings of the dangers of UV exposure and screaming headlines detailing the excesses of young people living it up on post-exam holidays.
From the news reports you’d be forgiven for thinking that Ireland’s entire population of 18 to 25-year olds had decamped en masse to the beach resorts for Bacchanalian revels that would make the immoderation of the court of Versailles seem like the Queen’s garden party. The truth is somewhat more prosaic, but it's the exception, rather than the rule, that makes a good story. Yes, there is sun, sea and sex, but for the most part it isn’t really Colleens Gone Wild.
Why this is news is beyond me. What else would you expect from young people living under the real and present danger of exams from when they first learned to read and write? Suddenly they find themselves with money in their pockets, surrounded by thousands of young people all similarly determined to blow off a little steam. It’s post-traumatic stress.
Summer holidays have always been about hooking up with the opposite sex. Whether your summer romance took place in a field in the Gaeltacht or on a beach in Spain is merely an accident of birth. Today’s young people are much more flush than the previous generation, so they do it in exotic places. Would you blame them?
For a few weeks you are away from the prying eyes of family, neighbours and community. You have left the responsibilities of work, studies, and in some cases even relationships, back home. This in itself is extremely liberating. Aided and abetted by drink promotions and the knowledge that what happens on tour, stays on tour, many people – both young and not so young – tend to go a little crazy.
The relative poverty of my student days meant that most of my early summer holidays were spent camping in the bush with large groups of equally cash-strapped students. In some ways, I am jealous. Instead of tapas and cocktails we had sausages and cheap wine around the campfire.
Being squashed into a two-man tent with your three best friends can certainly cramp a girl’s style. Privacy was non-existent, but the determination of the human spirit is a beautiful thing. On one memorable occasion, I dragged the then-current love of my life away from the party early to spend some quality time alone with me. It had all being going well until two drunken partygoers from the tent next door fell right on top of us, uprooting our tent pegs and spraining Charlie’s ankle to boot.
As far as holiday romances went, Charlie and I seemed fated never to work. It’s as if the gods were accepting bribes from my father, determined to keep us apart. The next afternoon we tried again. If you’ve ever tried to have sex in the scorching heat of a tent in the midday sun, you’ll know it’s not easy. It was hot stuff alright, but not in a good way.
We poured cold water over each other in an effort to keep cool, but it wasn’t enough. Eventually we decided to open the tent just a little for some air and in flew a bluebottle fly. Being a girly girl, and not fond of large buzzing insects, I screamed and ran. He laughed and told me not to be silly, which under the circumstances was definitely the wrong move. While trying to get cosy with a member of the fairer sex, it’s generally a bad idea to laugh at her irrational fears.
While I am fond of sex outside, the bush is definitely not the best place for al fresco intimacy. On the beach, your biggest worry is sand in uncomfortable places or being interrupted by other amorous couples. In the bush, the presence of snakes, scorpions or other of creatures that bite, sting and scratch makes one think twice about exposing your delicate flesh to the great outdoors.
Still, where there is a will there is a way, and Charlie and I eventually got it together in the back of his VW Golf. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but free of uninvited wildlife. Plus, since he parked it away from the campsite and the windows steamed up pretty quickly, it offered as much privacy as we could expect.
When it comes to holiday romances, my friend Maureen is possibly the luckiest girl I know. Although not conventionally beautiful, with short hair and glasses, men are magnetically drawn to her. A group of us were down in Cape Town on a well-deserved break, dressed up to the nines and enjoying a few drinks.
While I was catching up with an old flame that lived in the city, a man approached Maureen. He was tall and handsome, but certainly no stranger. As the lead singer in a band who had been huge in the late 1980s, his picture had adorned thousands of teenage girls’ bedroom walls, including Maureen’s. It’s not every day you find yourself face to face with your teenage heartthrob, so she was more than a little chuffed that he was trying to seduce her, and not the other way around.
For the most part, holiday romances are harmless fun – a chance to sexually experiment with people who are not part of your everyday life. However, it is important to be smart and safe when you are away. Your fun in the sun should be just that – fun. You want to come home with good memories, photographs and tacky souvenirs and not a sexually transmitted disease.
To get the most from your holidays, it’s important to stick to a few basic rules. Look after yourself and your friends; remember that drinking to the point where you can’t make responsible decisions is always a mistake; carry condoms and always, always wear sunscreen. Have a great summer.