They do it down on Camber Sands, they do it at Waikiki: lazing about the beach all day, at night the crickets creepy; squinting faces at the sky, a Harold Robbins paperback, surfers drop their boards and dry - and everybody wants a hat. But behind the chalet my holiday's complete and I feel like William Tell, Maid Marian on her tiptoe feet pulling mussels from a shell. Pulling mussels from a shell. Shrinking in the sea so cold, topless ladies look away; a he-man in a sudden shower shelters from the rain. You wish you had a motor boat to pose around the harbour bar, and when the sun goes off to bed you hook it up behind the car. But behind the chalet, my holiday's complete and I feel like William Tell, Maid Marian on her tiptoe feet pulling mussels from the shell. Pulling mussels from the shell. Two fat ladies window shop, something for the mantelpiece; in for bingo all the nines, a panda for sweet little niece. Coach drivers stand about looking at a local map. About the boy he's gone away, down to next door's caravan. But behind the chalet my holiday's complete and I feel like William Tell, Maid Marian on her tiptoe feet pulling mussels from a shell. Pulling mussels from a shell. Behind the chalet my holiday's complete and I feel like William Tell, Maid Marian on her tiptoe feet pulling mussels from a shell. Pulling mussels from a shell. .

SQUEEZE